


Blue Ridge Breakdown

by nearlypeaceful



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nearlypeaceful/pseuds/nearlypeaceful
Summary: Companion to “Don’t Try to Wake Me in the Morning.” (AU) The Saviors are rescued by a fearless group of warrior children and their adult leader, Lucy. They soon discover a danger that their rescuers face, a mysterious force of the wild woods. An unrelentless danger that soon threatens the Saviors’ world, pitting unlikely groups together in a fight for survival. (Slow burn)
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

_AN: I do not own The Walking Dead. all characters and content not created by the author belongs to AMC and the respective owners of TWD._

_This is a sequel of sorts, more of a companion piece to “Don’t Try to Wake Me in the Morning” (Shortened to DTTWMITM). It can be read independently, but I highly recommend reading that one first, as this will contain spoilers and is best read in order. This story is set in an alternate universe, if the course of events were different before DTTWMITM begins._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 1**

The crack of gunfire turned an otherwise pleasant morning completely upside down. Here, in some pissant little street on the mountainous outskirts of Who-The-Fuck-Knows (by the ways of Bumfuck Nowhere), Negan fell into an ambush.

He chose to view it as a temporary set-back. A test, if you will, of the size of his _cajones._ Negan felt up to the task, though confidence was not a trait he lacked in, so this was not unusual. The ambush, however, was. Negan rarely allowed himself in this type of situation.

Needless to say, he was highly annoyed.

Six of his men, well _five_ of his men and one captive, left for scouting the previous day. Negan had decided last minute to tag along. His wives were grating on his nerves, the walls of the endless concrete hallways were suffocating, and Negan felt like breaking some skulls, even if they were only attached to walkers.

They were dubbed “The Saviors,” despite doing lots of killing and less so of saving, but Negan liked to pat himself on the back in those regards, even if the numbers were a little skewed towards bloodshed. They’d embarked on this ill-fated venture on a tip stammered out by some twitchy, half-starved man they caught trying to steal from one of Negan’s outposts. That was their first mistake.

The man had said, after some mild… _creative convincing_ that involved a shattered hand, that there was an untouched town up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. This town, he had said through half-rotted teeth, already was hemorrhaging residents before the Collapse. Whole streets of houses abandoned and still full of goods and wares. A positive El Dorado, a treasure trove ripe for the picking. And this guy, with only one functioning hand and a swelled-up face from well-placed punches… well, he was the only one who’d been there.

It was likely bullshit. In fact, Negan knew it was bullshit. But, there’s often a grain of truth hidden in bullshit, and if anyone was going to discover the mystery town, it would be Negan. He needed to get out anyways, and the scavenging net was cast wider and wider as stocks emptied. 

He’d had to go with his men. Otherwise, who knows what pilferings he’d get, after they’d stashed away their own finder’s fees. Booze and cigarettes would be mysteriously lacking, probably along with rubbers and other Very Valuable Things that a post-Collapse world clamors for. No, it was best if the Big Boss went too, and kept an eye out for any sticky fingers. Even now though, with him along, he had to watch them all carefully, especially fucking Simon, the rat. Looked like a rat, smelled like a rat. Was a rat.

Simon remained blissfully unaware of Negan’s disdain, thinking himself Negan’s right-hand man, or left-hand when Dwight was around. Dwight. Another fucking story for another time. _Keep your enemies close,_ Negan always thought when Simon’s shit-eating grin appeared by his side. So far, it was working.

Though the mystery town remained elusive, as expected, the Saviors really had quite the ball driving through the mountains, ransacking the occasional motel or gas station. The walkers here even seemed a little tamer, slower, as if the mountain air suited them a bit better.

Last night, they’d found an unscathed bar both untouched by looters and devoid of walkers. A gem. In fact, it was called The Gem, and the name was a fulfilled promise. They needed to blow off some steam, and Negan let them carry on drinking and playing cards, eating stale peanuts and looking over the nudie mags hidden in a desk in the back. All except the captive Daryl, taken from Rick the Prick’s group as collateral. Daryl wasn’t much fun anyways. He’d only glare at the group in his filthy sweats Negan made him wear and spit on the floor occasionally. A real Debbie-fucking-Downer. Negan told him as much, but Daryl only glowered at the floor and grunted.

The night turned into the wee hours of the morning, and most of them were snoring, draped over benches and the floor, clutching half-empty (or half-full, Negan liked to be optimistic, after all) bottles like newborn babes. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, spilled liquor, and poorly digested food.

If Bob hadn’t gone outside to take an epically long piss, they might’ve been toast- fish in a barrel. Or, they might’ve been fine, since Bob couldn’t keep his big mouth shut as he stumbled in, hollering that he saw a gang of bikers headed straight their way, dick still flopping around out of his fly until Snake yelled at him to holster that thing.

Anyways, it didn’t matter now why they were there or how they got there. They were pinned inside the bar, what little windows the joint had were shot to hell, and Bob now lay in the middle of the floor with his face half-gone. At least it was a double-kill shot, once for Bob the Human, second for Bob the Walker. 

It was five against- twelve? Thirteen? The odds weren’t looking so hot, and the Savior’s ammunition was running low. 

Negan hunched behind a gum-ridden bar table and checked his bullets.

_Fuck._

At least he had Lucille still. He felt for her next to him, and his finger pricked a barb.

“Shit! I know, I know, you’re thirsty,” Negan muttered to her, then sucked on the sore spot for a second. She was his weapon of choice, a wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. Sometimes, she spoke to him, but only he heard what she wanted. Usually blood. Negan knew it was in his head, but let the others think he was a little unhinged. It worked to his advantage, for the most part.

Kevin, a scrappy little Savior that looked perpetually younger than his age due to his patchy beard and baby-face, made Molotovs in one corner of the bar with a suspicious speed and accuracy. _Where did he find all the scraps of cloth?_ Probably best not to ask. When he wasn’t stammering out nonsense or a general nervous wreck, he was surprisingly useful. Give him one task to focus on, and he was golden. Usually.

“Five more ready!” Kevin shouted. A nearby Savior, a surly tattooed ex-con Snake, snatched several and began passing them out to the others scattered around the bar, dodging in between tables and pillars to avoid the intermittent gunfire. He pressed one into Negan’s hand as he passed.

“Eleven still out there, sir.”

Negan grimaced internally, but twisted his face into a smile. He looked around and caught Simon’s eye. and shouted, “Well, then! Let’s fuckin’ even out the numbers then, shall we?”

“Yes, SIR!”

Kevin and Negan opened fire on the ambushers while Snake, Daryl, and Simon tossed alcohol bottles and aimed for the other gang’s vehicles. Glass and liquor sprayed everywhere, voices shouted commands that were blown away in the chaos. Step one, complete.

Negan aimed carefully, making each shot count. If he couldn’t hit one of the enemies, he held fire. There was about six motorcycles out front and van. The bikes were shit for cover, but the van- there were at least three guys behind there. More probably were flanking the bar, looking for the back entrance. Shit.

The air was smoky, with a sharp tinge from the gunpowder. Negan’s pistol was heavy in his hand, he felt the metal, smooth and clean. He held his breath, lined up a shot, and exhaled.

Trigger pull. Head shot. _Pew pew,_ he thought. A shootout was better than he could imagine as an adult then pretending Cops and Robbers as a child. The chaos, the blood, the screams. Giving it back to whoever dared cross them. There was a fear there, but it was smothered by all the other emotions.

Then came the Molotovs. Daryl had the best arm of them all, Negan had to admit, and chucked them as close as possible to the pools of alcohol. The splatters of liquor burst into flame, some on the ground and some on the motorcycles.

“Light up those sons of bitches Daryl, and I’ll get you some real fuckin’ clothes!” Negan shouted as he reloaded. Daryl threw a few more, and a wall of fire was outside now. Step two, complete.

A scream pierced the air. One of the attackers was on fire, screaming and waving his arms wildly. He ran off into the distance, down the steep road and out of sight.

“That’ll bring in the goddamn walkers,” Simon said, peeking over an overturned table. “Looks like nine left or so. More Molotovs!”

Daryl nodded, and tossed more alcohol bottles. The attackers knew their play now, and moved away from the areas where the bottles hit. Daryl anticipated this, using the Molotovs to bring out the attackers from their cover. A huge biker with a bushy beard ducked out from behind a bike, and spun in a pirouette when Negan’s .44 punched through his shoulder. Before he had much of a chance to scream, another bullet turned his head into a spray of gory mess.

Daryl swore. “I’d be more useful if I had rifle!”

Negan laughed as the gunfire slowed down during reloads. “It fuckin’ speaks! Listen, Daryl, You draw out two fuckin’ more for me to get, I’ll fuckin’ _consider_ giving you a gun,” Negan shouted as he dodged the spray of wood splinters from a too-close bullet. “Hand to God, I’ll fuckin’ consider it.”

He surveyed the room. They were still holding fast, no major injuries so far. Besides Bob, of course, the useless bastard. The old bar was sturdily made with lots of heavy wood suitable for cover and barricading the doors, and luckily very few windows. The ones the bar did have were higher up and narrow, and make it tricky for the attackers. It did also present a challenge to the Saviors, as well.

Negan whistled, and the men looked over. _Like fuckin’ dogs. I got them trained good._

“Limp Dick!”

Kevin groaned, but crouched low and moved carefully over to Negan. “Whaddaya need, sir?”

“That back door- watch it. Sneaky fucks might try to give us a goddamn reacharound and surprise us in the ass. And you know what I say about reacharounds, right?”

“Uhhh- only from your wives?”

“Pre-fuckin’-cisely. Go.”

Kevin nodded and moved towards the bar. When Negan and Simon provided cover, he hopped over the bar and moved the barricades around, slipping into the back room. 

“Eight now,” Simon called out. He raised his voice and shouted to the attackers outside. “You all had enough yet?”

“FUCK YOU!” was the only response, besides someone moaning for their mother, or for God. Same thing, to some men.

Daryl whistled to Negan, which greatly annoyed him. Whistling was _his_ thing, who the fuck was this mute redneck to- actually, fuck it. No time to bitch and moan about it. Daryl threw more bottles, then Molotovs. Sure enough, two more attackers ran out from behind a large wooden road sign, now engulfed in flames.

_Bang, bang, thud, thud_. Two down.

“How ‘bout that gun now?” Daryl asked. Negan sighed and paused for a moment to dramatically consider his promise. Finally, he barely nodded to Simon, who rummaged through a duffle bag and extracted a 9mm handgun and held it up for Negan’s inspection. A lady gun, if there ever was one. It had a pink camouflage grip and _REDNECK BITCH_ bedazzled on the side in pink studs. Daryl looked down at the gun, then to Simon. Simon was smirking with a shit-eating grin that even Negan wanted to punch. Daryl shrugged, nonplussed. Negan hid a smile. He couldn’t help it- he _liked_ Daryl, the defiant son-of-a-bitch.

Daryl peeked out to take a headcount. He lifted the handgun and-

_BANG! BANG!_

Two more down. Negan had no complaints, so long as that gun stayed trained on the ambushers. The gunfire had quieted down outside as the attackers started to reassess their attack.

“They’re second guessing fuckin’ with us!” Snake hollered. “Good shot, Hickboy!”

The men hunched out of sight from the windows, gathered around the duffle bag and doled out the remaining bullets. Not much left. After that, they were toast.

“Alright,” Negan said. “We gotta make this fuckin’ count. There’s five of us, four of them. We took out most of those fuckers, now we’re in the home fuckin’ stretch. We’ve got the advantage of fortification, they’ve got the advantage of the great out-fuckin’-doors. Here’s the plan…”

As they began to strategize, Daryl shifted to the window, peeking out to assess the attackers outside. His face darkened as a dull rumble grew louder and louder.

“We got company.”

“What?” Snake asked. “Who is it?” He moved to the window and swore.

“Reinforcements,” Daryl said simply.

A round of curses and sighs escaped from the group. Negan sat back heavily. They were sweaty, hungry, thirsty, and cranky, holed up in the bar in an ambush for most of the day. It was humid, still the tail-end of summer, though a hint of fall was biting in the air.

Negan’s fingers were cramping from gripping his handgun, and despite their relative safety so far holed up in the bar, it felt tight. Walls closing in, and all. _Just like home._ Bullet cases littered the floor like confetti, along with broken glass. One well-aimed grenade tossed through an open window and they’d be toast. Hell, he was surprised they’d lasted this long being outnumbered and hungover as shit. Maybe, just maybe, they could make an escape through the back door, slip out into the woods behind before the biker fucks took notice…

Too late. An explosion of bullets rained in through the holes where the windows used to be. Wood splinters and dust clouded the air, already stifling and heavy. They all dove to cover, unable to leave for the sheer amount of fire power coming through. Some of them coughed and wheezed from the dust, and it was getting hard to see. Despite the heavy walls, holes began to puncture through. The building moaned and creaked, a great weight shifting.

“Who the fuck are these guys?” Snake cried. “They’re using bullets like fuckin candy!”

A break in the gunfire. Reloading?

“Aim carefully! NOW!” Negan shouted.

The four men leapt from their cover, firing the precious few bullets they had left. Negan’s insides twisted like a taffy pull at a carnival – there were more men out there, maybe less than twenty, maybe more. A few dropped to the ground, one motorcycle erupted in a pitiful, half-assed explosion which took out one more.

But then- more dropped. Head shot after head shot. Negan looked around, his men weren’t firing off enough rounds to drop that many, nor were they _that_ good of shots, except for maybe Daryl. The attackers shifted their attention from the bar to the woods surrounding the bar. More dropped, and the numbers were closer to ten now.

Simon screamed and clutched his shoulder. His arm was limp and blood ran freely down his arm, hit by a stray bullet. Daryl dove to his side and began to fashion a tourniquet. As he tried to keep him steady, Simon slumped to the ground, shaking and trembling.

“That your men?” Daryl asked Negan over the ringing shots. “Saving our asses?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the truth – he didn’t. The Saviors weren’t expecting them back until tonight, and wouldn’t worry if they were a day or two late. Maybe they’d heard of a shootout and came on a whim? Unlikely, improbable, but not impossible. They were way the fuck away from home, but maybe…

“I got three bullets left,” Daryl said. Snake had two, Simon was only swearing and mumbling unintelligibly but Daryl counted four left for him, and Negan had just one measly bullet left. Kevin still had a full clip, hopefully, but Negan wasn’t holding out hope.

More gunfire from outside, more screaming. Some odd whooping sounds echoed through the trees like a war-cry. Negan thought of the old westerns as a kid, Indians riding in on their painted horses. Maybe he was going fucking nuts.

“Do we go out back, make a break for it?” Snake asked. Simon swore some more in agreement and clutched his arm.

_What a fucking disaster_ , Negan thought. They’d come out to scout and scavenge, and this area had been deemed fairly safe due to the isolation. There were barely any towns going up into these woods, and the ones that existed were spread out far in between winding roads and steep hills. Even on a bad scavenging trip they’d come home with _something._ They’d lost the car, all their ammo, and judging by the amount of glass around, most of the liquor in the goddamn building.

_No one to blame but yourself. You’re the fucking Big Boss._

Now or never.

“Let’s get the fuck out while they’re distracted,” Negan said finally. If there was one thing he hated to do, it was turn tail and run. But sometimes, rarely in Negan’s case, that was the only goddamn option.

As they gathered their few meager supplies and some odds and ends stashed behind the counter (mainly cigarettes and gum, to Negan’s dismay), the back door pushed open slowly.

Kevin limped through, one hand clutched at a bleeding wound on his leg.

“Uhhh, boss? Sir?”

“What the fuck is it, Limp Dick? We’re getting the fuck out of here while we can. There anything useful back there?”

“Uhhhh,” Kevin glanced towards the back room. “I guess…”

“What the fuck happened to your leg? If you say ‘uhhh’ one more fuckin’ time, I will put a bullet through your fuckin’ skull.”

“There’s kids back there. I cut my leg on something sharp in the back.”

Negan stood straight up and stared at Kevin for a minute. The other men glanced around, then flinched when a bullet ricocheted off a hanging lamp. Then, it was all quiet.

“In the back room?” Daryl asked, shuffling towards the back door.

“Yeah, some jagged metal was stickin’ out when I was lookin’ around-“

“No, where are the kids?”

Kevin shrugged. “Oh, outside. Buncha kids shootin’ at the guys out front.” He leaned over the counter and glanced outside. “Only a few left now. One’s bleeding out. They’re really fuckin’ good shots.”

Negan shook his head. The poor idiot must’ve cracked his head, too. “Let’s go.”

They made their way to the back door. Negan pushed it open, only to drop the bag and lift his hands up in surrender. The others followed suit.

A kid, barely nine or ten, had a shotgun trained on them. _Fucking Kevin was right!_

The kid wore a ratty cowboy hat and boots, a rusty Sherriff’s badge pinned to his flannel shirt. He wore a scowl that wouldn’t look out of place on a weathered old cowboy. Behind him, two more kids, no taller than Negan’s hips, squatted behind an overturned tree, rifle barrels trained on Negan and his men.

The color drained from Simon’s face, which already was deathly pale.

The kid spat on the ground near their feet. “Drop ‘em.”

The Saviors looked around in confusion. The Kid cocked the shotgun, that _CHCK-CHCK_ sound that causes any man’s asshole to clench when he’s somewhere he isn’t supposed to be.

The Kid looked at each man, through squinted eyes. The shotgun barrel stayed aimed at Negan’s face. “First shot’s birdshot, which you’ll be pickin’ out of your teeth if you try anything. Second shot is buckshot. Won’t be too worried about teeth then.”

Negan nodded and turned his head slightly towards his men. They dropped their guns to the ground. Lucille was placed near Negan’s feet gently. One of the kids looked at the bat and cocked an eyebrow, but none of them spoke. Negan realized he had a grin pasted on his face that he couldn’t quite wipe off his face, and he struggled to force a serious face on. It was silent, otherwise. No gunfire, no moaning, no glass. Just the kids, and the Saviors.

Negan looked around, taking a tally of all the ones he could see, adding a few extras for cushion that were likely hiding out of sight.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t we lucky ducks that you kids showed up?”

He hoped it was luck, anyways.

/ / / / /

**AN: I asked, you answered, so here is the next installment! With the last story, I tried to update weekly, however this story will likely be biweekly updates due to busy life things and other projects. Hope you enjoy, and stay lovely, lovelies! xoxoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

“Well, well, well. Aren’t we lucky ducks that you kids showed up?”

The Kid’s face could have stepped off a Clint Eastwood western, all scowls and squinted eyes. No emotions betrayed, just a stern face. He looked over the Saviors with a withering look, then spat on the ground near their feet. “Wouldn’t call it luck, mister. Haven’t decided whether to kill you or not yet.”

Simon grunted, clutching at his arm. “Listen, you little shit-“

The Kid cocked his pistol and shoved the barrel straight into Simon’s nuts. “You sure you wanna finish that sentence, mister?”

Simon’s mouth slammed shut. Negan chuckled. _Already put Simon in his goddamn place, and his balls haven’t even fucking dropped._ Somewhere in the distance, a bird cried out, breaking the deafening silence of the aftermath that settled from the shootout. Pine needles rustled softly, and sap oozed from a few trees that had gotten shot, filling the air with sweet pine tar. 

The Kid looked at Negan for a moment, then Lucille slung over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. The two held one another’s gaze, steady and solemn. Two wolves from rival packs, searching the other for dominance.

A small voice called from behind him. A curly-haired girl called out. “Bring ‘em to Mamma, Billy.” She had innocent doe eyes, big brown ones framed by long lashes, that upon closer inspection more resembled a predator watching prey then any deer Negan saw.

_Billy. Billy the Kid._ Negan bit back a smile. The Kid’s scowl, Billy’s scowl, grew deeper at the girl’s words. “Ain’t Mamma’s call when we’re out. I’m in charge, it’s my call.”

The girl slung her rifle over her shoulder and put a hand on her hip. “’ _Isn’t’,_ not ‘ _ain’t_.’”

The Kid just stared back at her, until she rolled her eyes and took a few steps back. “Whatever,” she said, masking boredom on her face. “You’re _such_ a jerk.”

Negan glanced around. He could have easily decked the Kid, knocked him out cold. Whether or not the other pint-sized pirates would shoot him was another story. “Listen, kid, we got two injured men. One dead inside, we already took care of him so he won’t turn. No ammo left, save a few bullets. Nothing to trouble yourselves with.”

The kid wasn’t swayed. “So, I should just put y’all out of your misery?”

Negan laughed. “You’re a fuckin’ ball-buster, aren’t you?”

“Been accused of worse.”

Negan laughed. “No, I’m suggesting an alternative, kid. We’ll go on our way, you crazy kids take whatever you want from this shitshow. All we need is a car, and we’ll get out of your prepubescent hair.”

Simon was leaning more and more on Kevin for support. His face was drawn and pale. “I need the doctor,” he said weakly. Blood seeped onto Kevin’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice as he wrapped his arm tighter around Simon for support.

“You’ll need a preacher soon, if you don’t shut up.” The Kid motioned to an overturned log. “Go set on that log over there. Abby, watch ‘em. If anyone so much as scratches their nose, shoot ‘em.”

The curly-haired girl stomped out from behind the tree once more, gun trained on the Saviors. Strong but small little hands yanked at their wrists, cuffing them with zip-ties behind their backs.

“Well aren’t you all little goddamn boy scouts, prepared for any situation,” Negan said.

Abby barely looked over at him, more interested in the scattering of blown out cars and dead bodies. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll show you how I won my crotch-kicking badge.”

Negan complied, content in watching the curious group. Simon slumped down off the log, instead using it to keep himself sat upright. Smoke and gasoline began to overwhelm the smell of pine. Somewhere around the front of a building, a walker’s groan was halted midway, followed by a thump.

The forest here was reclaiming back the asphalt and concrete. Long weeds jutted from cracks in the road, and tiny saplings burst through the gravel parking lot. Pretty soon, maybe ten years or so, the bar would be enveloped by brush and new saplings. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The Saviors waited on the logs patiently, Negan very much amused by the interesting turn of events. He counted seven kids that came from the woods, some sliding down trees and others seemingly appearing out of nowhere behind trees or overgrown bramble bushes. They’d strategically surrounded the bar, picking off the attackers easily. _Fish in a barrel_.

Some of the bodies nearby were turning. They twitched a few moments, and some began raising their heads, dragging themselves along the cracked asphalt with bloody fingers. A ginger-haired kid in a filthy, too-small astronaut costume dispatched the dead, making _pew-pew_ sounds as he moved along the corpses. The other kids dragged the bodies away from the carnage, picking through pockets and pulling off some of the clothes that were still usable, and trying them on for size.

Their organization was… _fantastic_. A well-oiled machine, like they’d been doing this their whole lives as a unit. Negan could only dream of getting his men to organize so well. One took out the dead who were beginning to turn, two rummaged through the bodies, another one went through the motorcycles and vehicles. Anything remotely useful was placed into piles based on what the item was: clothes, ammo, weapons, food, and a pile of miscellaneous items. A girl with a notebook and an archery bow on her back went through the supply piles, tallying up what was found and placing it into bins. Another kid was hotwiring any of the salvageable cars and moving them in an orderly line away from the smoke and pools of iridescent gas.

Watching them was fascinating and amusing, but Simon slumped lower and lower down the log until he lapsed into unconsciousness with a loud _thump._ Face-first. Negan hoped he broke his nose from the impact.

Abby, their pint-sized guard, sighed and waved over Billy the Kid. They muttered back and forth, eyeing their adult captives. Finally, the kid spat on the ground after some sort of agreement was made, and walked over to the Saviors.

“Get in the van. Don’t try nothin’.”

“ _ANYthing,”_ Abby corrected. Billy swore.

One of the kids had fashioned a crude tourniquet on Simon and then the Saviors loaded awkwardly into the van, still zip-tied, and carefully placed Simon in the back on a blanket with some crates of scavenged goods shoved behind him. Lucille was unceremoniously tossed in the back. Negan sat in the middle next to Daryl, Kevin and Snake shoved in the back, bickering under their breath. 

Negan began to slide from being amused to worried, an unusual sensation for him. Simon dying wasn’t a big deal- he was expendable. Negan could comb through his Saviors and find at least ten good people to replace him. But what was going to happen with them? This whole Kindergarten Kidnap was rather amusing in many ways, but how primal had they gotten?

He shifted in his seat, watching outside as the kids decided who would take them to wherever the hell they were going. “What the fuck was that book where the kids crash on a fuckin’ island? Worship a pig or some shit?” Negan laughed. “Goddammit, I never finished the stupid thing.”

“Lord of the Flies.” The ginger-haired kid popped up from the front seat, evidently still fiddling with wires.

“Jesus!” Negan jumped. “Where the fu- uh, heck did you come from?”

The boy pushed his glasses up and grinned. “Been here the whole time. Name’s Stark. You know, like Ironman? ‘Cause I’m good with inventing and stuff. Technology, too. Well, what we’ve been able to find.”

“Where are you takin’ us?” Daryl asked in a low voice. Negan smiled – cool as a cucumber, that guy was.

“Home, I guess,” Stark said with a smile. “Don’t worry, if you don’t mess around, you’ll be fine!”

With that, he jumped out and left the door hanging open. Abby hopped into the driver’s side in his place, and a silent boy with a handgun and an eyepatch loaded into the passenger side. He leaned his back against the dashboard and faced the Saviors with his gun trained on them.

Abby tossed something into Daryl’s lap. “Put ‘em on.”

“My hands are behind my back.”

Abby sighed, and went around the side of the van. She cut his zip-tie with a switchblade, but still left it pointing at him.

Daryl glanced uneasily at Negan and lifted up a thick, dark pillowcase. Negan gave him a slight nod, and was soon plunged into darkness. Daryl covered the rest of the Saviors, and slipped the last one over his head. Negan heard the _swoosh_ of another zip-tie, then the doors slammed shut.

_Kidnapped by fuckin’ kids. There’s got to be some fuckin’ irony in there._

The van sputtered to life after a few false starts, and off they went. Negan couldn’t tell if it was their prepubescent driver or the roads themselves, but he rattled against Daryl as the van zoomed through the twists and turns of what felt like a mountain road, or maybe they were just jettisoning through the forest. Either way, it was a bumpy, jerky ride.

Simon woke a few times, kicking crates and swearing before passing out again. Otherwise, the ride was quiet. Negan took the time to contemplate, try to assess their direction by the faint orb of light he could barely make out through his head covering.

After what could have been thirty minutes or two hours, the van rolled to a stop. Negan was hungry, thirsty, his hands were sore from the recoil of the pistol. Lucille was rolling around somewhere, and it made his hands itchy not knowing where exactly. A rusty gate creaked noisily, and the van rolled through before sputtering to a stop. Abby leapt out after a minute, some heated words were exchanged with another small voice, like angry squirrels chattering at one another.

Finally, the van door creaked open. Negan felt Daryl dragged out next to him, and several pairs of small, bony hands then dug into his arm, yanking him out as well. He could have fought and resisted, but if these kids wanted them dead, they would have shot them at the bar. Might as well see where this landed them. Curiosity was both a weakness and a strength in him, and he just wanted to see what the hell this was all about. So, he complied, stumbling out of the van and going wherever the gun in his back demanded, biting back hysterical chuckles and the urge to slap away the gun and lay out anyone who resisted.

From the gurgling noises and rusty squeaks, he gathered Simon had been dragged into some sort of wheelbarrow or wagon, as several little voices grunted with exertion. It was still light out, but fading – the pinpricks that peeked through the hood earlier were lighter now, faded. The soft dirt gave way to gravel when Negan heard footsteps coming- fast.

“What on Earth is going on here? Jesus, Abby, _prisoners_?” A woman’s voice, full of worry and concern and anger. Young, but not youthful. Tired. 

“No Mamma! Not really _prisoners_ , anyways. We’re helping- this one’s hurt, see? We saved them-“

“Jesus, zipties? Did they attack you?”

“Well, no. We didn’t really give ‘em a chance, at least. They were the ones under attack-“

“Uncuff them and take off those hoods! NOW!”

“Alright, alright, jeez. We just didn’t want them to find out where-”

“Now, Abby!”

Negan’s hands were freed and the hood lifted. He blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light of day. Negan looked around for a moment, stunned, then burst into laughter.

“Hol-lee _shit!_ ”

They were in the middle of a settlement, forest and mountains stretched around them. A wall of reclaimed boards and sheet metal stretched around them, tall and as far as he could see. To his left, a small house sat up on an embankment with rows and rows of crops, some in raised beds, some in the ground. To his right, an expansive log-cabin style building stated they were at _Littlechapel Caverns’ Gift Shoppe._ Next to it, a small trail led to a yawning cavern opening. Neat fences penned in some goats and nervous chickens.

What amazed Negan wasn’t the caverns or the settlement itself, but the fact that everywhere he looked, there were children. No adults, just kids. Tending crops, mending fences, boiling water over a big campfire, washing clothes in large basins, or, as most of them already were, glaring at the newcomers. There must have been forty or so of them, each clearly armed with at least a knife of some sort, holstered in an ankle or hip strap. The bigger kids all had guns of some sort, rifles slung over their shoulder or pistols hugging their hip.

He heard a moan and turned around. Simon was laying on a picnic table converted to a makeshift surgery table. A woman, the only adult Negan had seen thus far, bent over him, inspecting his wound tenderly with her fingers. Her hair, brown as earth but streaked with sun-goldened streaks, was pulled into a braid, little pieces flying this way and that. As she gently prodded Simon’s wound, her face was set in hard lines, but had a softness in certain light. The woman barely seemed to register anyone else besides Simon.

“Tully, grab my medkit,” she hollered to a nearby kid in a Braves’ jersey, who immediately went sprinting off towards the house. To another kid, she barked, “Go get a bottle of vodka- no, gin, if you can find it.” Off they went, quick as startled jackrabbits.

“I’m sorry for the rude introduction,” she said to no one in particular, not bothering to look up. She moved with expert precision, cutting away cloth from the wound and inspecting Simon for further hidden injuries. Clearly, he was not the first wounded to lay in front of her.

The woman extracted nitrile gloves from a small pouch strapped to her left hip and slipped them on. She spoke again, flicking her eyes quickly to each Savior without really seeing them before settling back on Simon.

“The kids don’t often get to meet others in the wild. I think it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyways: if you try anything, these kids will shoot you dead. If they miss, for some godforsaken reason, I’ll finish the job. What happened out there?”

She glanced up finally to scan for the kids she sent off on errands, then took a good look at the Saviors. She had a striking face, although weariness haunted her eyes. Snake eyed Negan, who found himself, for the first time in a long time, speechless.

“Did I grow a horn in my forehead? What happened out there?” she said impatiently. Tully returned with a small helper, around the age of five, who helped him lug a large bag with a Red Cross symbol embroidered on the side.

“Shootout,” Daryl finally offered with a shrug.

“No shit.” Tully eyed the woman with raised eyebrows, but she just waved him away. “Yeah, yeah, I know I swore. Extenuating circumstances, alright? Go take Molly and scram, it’s going to get messy here. Love you.”

“Love you too,” the little boy said. He grabbed the other child by the hand, gape-mouthed at the blood leaking from Simon, and half-dragged her back towards the gift shop.

Negan finally found his voice. “We heard tell about some abandoned shit-town, but as per fuckin’ usual, that didn’t pan out. Instead, we found a bar out scavenging, untouched as a goddamn devout nun, and were about to take all the shit home when a group of fuckin’ Hell’s Angels-looking bastards rolled up on us. We were doing okay until their reinforcements showed up. Then your kids here took ‘em out like it’s the goddamn OK Corral.”

The woman exhaled and shook her head. “Probably the Diamondback Gang. Named after the rattlesnake. They’re holed up in some armory somewhere, getting drunk and stoned and raiding people. It’s weird, they don’t usually get up this far. Too rural, too risky. Supplies must be thinning out.” She dabbed at some blood and looked thoughtful. “Abandoned town, huh? I wonder which one…”

Negan snorted. “Well, we didn’t find shit. Bar became a goddamn moot point too, we either drank or set fire to the bar’s supplies, the rest got shot to hell. How the hell do you do all this?” He gestured vaguely around him at the settlement. It was quiet here, the air was good and clean. Children chattered like birds in the distance, but there was no walker moans. Laughter punctured the air occasionally, and it felt light here, almost dizzyingly so.

The woman smiled, but offered nothing. The gin arrived and the bringer waved away again. It was a half-full bottle so cheap it would be better used as polish remover than to drink. She poured the gin over the mess of blood on Simon’s shoulder, and revealed the bullet hole bubbling freely. Simon swore weakly, but didn’t move. The woman took out tools: small pliers, scissors, needle and thread.

“Take a limb,” she ordered the Saviors, so they did. Negan held down Simon’s left leg, Daryl his right. Kevin and Snake each took an arm. Kevin was closest to the wound, and the color began to drain out of his face as he watched the wound with a morbid fascination.

The woman snapped her fingers at him. “Hey! You pass out, I’ll break your nose.”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am.”

_I like this chick,_ Negan thought.

“Good boy,” she said. “Take off your belt.”

“Uhhh. Ma’am?”

“Jesus, I ain’t flirting with you! It’s for your friend to bite on. This is going to hurt like a bitch.”

“OH!” Kevin complied, and once removed, gently put his belt in between Simon’s straight white teeth. _They are a beautiful set of teeth_ , Negan thought. Pity to be wasted on such a scumbag.

It wasn’t difficult to get a small amount of enjoyment watching Simon’s eyes grow wide in pain and fear, as the woman dug around the wound for the bullet. They pressed down hard to secure his limbs from flailing, but even then he was still able to wriggle a little. Mainly, he screamed, biting on the leather and saliva and tears rolling down his cheeks. The woman did not apologize, nor scold, just quietly and determinedly worked. She found the biggest piece, but noted, with a twinge of disappointment that the bullet had broken into pieces. It wasn’t long before Simon passed out from the pain, but as the woman muttered under her breath, it was probably for the better that he remained unconscious. She worked on, the Saviors loosening their grip but remaining alert should Simon snap awake.

The Saviors, before they were called that, had originally been under Simon before Negan came along. They were a small group of asshole bikers, stealing and killing indiscriminately, if a group had a coveted thing. Usually guns, sometimes food, sometimes women. There was no organization, no finesse with the group, just a bunch of hungry, horny men with too much time and too little to keep them occupied.

Until Negan came in. Simon had been easy to dethrone, almost laughably so to Negan. His only true power was charisma, which the group lacked overall, but Negan had it practically coming out of his ears. Simon wasn’t particularly strong, and certainly not as clever as he thought he was. Negan ran across them raiding a neighborhood, but stayed in the shadows, watching them. It took two days of following before he had them all figured out, and took less than an hour to convince them all to follow him instead of Simon. That, and Simon had the holy hell beat out of him by Lucille, pre-barbed wire. Negan didn’t _want_ to necessarily, but you had to kind of beat down the old guard to bring in the new, right?

They were all sweating bullets by the time the woman pulled out the last piece. She inspected all the pieces together, and seemed satisfied. “That looks like the last of it. Any more digging and we might lose him.”

She stitched him up in neat little lines, even and perfect. She was no stranger to sewing or stitches, and Simon was lucky as fuck and didn’t even know it. The bloodied gloves were discarded, and the woman whistled a high, shrill note. An oddly clean boy in a button-up shirt and crisp navy pants, perhaps around eight or nine, ferociously pumped water into a bucket, then hauled it over to them all. His arms bulged through the shirt, and Negan made a mental note not to cross this little one. He could punch a horse out with those arms. He looked suspiciously at the Saviors, but said nothing. After he left the bucket, he scurried back to the water pump. Someone else whistled from across the settlement, and the boy quickly filled another bucket and dashed away, not a drop of water spilled.

The woman dipped a cup into the bucket, then rinsed her hands and arms off with the cool water. She scanned the sky; the sun was starting to dip low now. The forest around them earlier seemed clean and refreshing, but now the shadows were stretching long. Sinister, almost. Sometimes a group of trees would swish their needles as if a wind blew through, but none could be felt. Negan felt a tug to be indoors, to be sheltered, but shook it off. _Man the fuck up._ None of the kids looked too concerned.

“Now,” the woman said, breaking the silence. “I think we could all use a stiff drink, well all of us adults anyways, and a more thorough explanation.” She stuck her now clean hand out to Negan. “You’re the leader, I assume. You’ve got that… air of authority. I’m Lucy.”

Negan smiled, his warmest smile he could possibly muster. “Negan. It’s a pleasure to meet you, doll.”

It was. It really was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Strangers were an uncommon sight at Littlechapel. Though the children went about their tasks as usual, they idled more, whispering amongst themselves like gossiping church ladies. The strangers were men who’d seen plenty of danger, and made-up stories were already swirling.

Lucy didn’t know what to think about the newcomers. She eyed them as she cleaned up the old picnic table littered with bloodied rags and medical tools. _Better not use this one for lunches for awhile_ , she thought as she scraped the bullet fragments into the disposal bucket.

One of the newcomers was tall and an obvious charmer with slicked-back hair, a leather jacket and a very amused smile perpetually twitching at his lips. Danger clung to him like a bad cologne. In his youth, he was likely the boyfriend that mothers hated. The skinny blonde man’s eyes darted around erratically, his fingers always fumbling at something. Real nervous guy in general. His eyes flicked constantly at Leather Jacket for approval, and Lucy suspected if he was told to stop breathing, he’d comply until he passed out from lack of oxygen. The other two were blank slates, hard to get a read on. One was tattooed with snakes twisting up his arms, more interested in smoking his cigarette then the surroundings. The other one wore filthy sweats and looked out at his surroundings with watchful dark eyes. And the injured one was also an unknown, presently unconscious and being pushed in a wheelbarrow towards the Big House by a few of the bigger kids.

_It is what it is._ Too late to turn back now, they were already here and their weapons confiscated. Might as well feed them and send them on their way.

It was rare that the children bring back anyone from their trips. _Be cautious, be alert,_ she taught them. Occasionally they would somehow find other kids, and bring them into the fold. Once they even found an infant, screaming in a treehouse while half a dozen walkers snapped and snarled from the ground below. No one else was found. There was an odd magnetism about these kids, Lucy always thought when another dirty, half-starved little face would arrive at the caverns. Perhaps there were a lot more kids out there, surviving and hiding on their own, wary of adults and _for good reason_. It was bad out there. Hell, sometimes it was bad in here, too.

Lucy rinsed her bloodied hands off in a spigot near the table. The kids had never brought adults back before, and never interfered with a gunfight. They were getting older, taking more risks. Something to talk about later, after these strangers were on their way home. Speaking of which…

“Your home far from here?” she asked the Leather Jacket. Negan, he said his name was. An unusual one. The other three strangers were hanging around a few yards away, taking in the scenery and blowing puffs of smoke in the air.

Negan shrugged. “Can’t really say, seeing as these kids went fuckin’ Taliban on our asses and covered our heads.”

Lucy nodded and looked out over the settlement as she wiped her hands dry on a clean rag. “Sorry ‘bout that. They’re awful jittery, but they mean well.”

“I bet you’ve got a good fuckin’ story there, doll.”

Lucy turned towards Negan. He was nearly a head taller than her, his eyes sparkling at some private joke. He looked like the kind who didn’t appreciate bullshit. Speaking straight was likely the better course, and so she did. 

“I hope you’ll understand that I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

“I do.” Negan cocked an eyebrow. “Can’t blame you, either. But we mean you no harm, and I guess all you’ve got is my fuckin’ word on that.”

Lucy tried not to wince at the swearing. She had managed to curb the habit herself, saving it for extreme moments of distress or whispering swears to herself when she was alone. When was the last time she’d had a real conversation with an adult? Too long.

She squared off and crossed her arms. “Well then, here is how this whole thing is gonna go. It’s getting dark, and that brings danger.”

Negan looked around, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve got some solid goddamn walls here, and I haven’t seen any hint of walkers around here. You worried about bears?”

“Amongst other things. You and your men may come inside for supper. There’s a banquet hall in attached to the gift shop as some sort of welcome center thing. We use it as our cafeteria and dining hall, and the gift shop is cleared out for the kids’ recreation time.”

The others turned towards her and listened in, their interest piqued. Lucy addressed them all.

“Here are my rules, so listen up because I will not repeat myself. None of you are to be alone with the kids, and don’t talk to them unless they talk to you first. I see you harassing any of the kids, I hear about any funny business whatsoever, and you’re toast. Let me clarify: I will shoot you, which means the kids will likely join in until your bodies are Swiss cheese.”

Negan whistled. “Damn. You’re a cold-hard bitch, you know that? Not that it’s a bad thing.”

She didn’t flinch. “I know. There’s an old detached garage that you will all go to and spend the night. If any of you are handy with a car, there’s a busted-up Jeep in there that is all yours. If not, tomorrow morning we will drive you all some distance away, preferably in the direction of your home. And yes, either way you will be escorted a safe distance away and hooded until we deem it so. If you don’t agree, we can take you back to the bar we found you at and you can figure out your plan home yourself. Deal?”

Negan squinted, looking out over the horizon. The kids were back at their duties, happily chattering away and singing, bored now by the strangers who just stood around. The fading light gave everything an orangish haze, and a chill breeze was beginning to stir the trees. Every so often, a shrill laugh would pierce the air, followed by more giggles. Negan closed his eyes. It smelled like camp, pine trees and smoking fires.

“It’s the laughter that you fuckin’ miss first,” he said.

“I know.”

“We got us some kids too, only a couple, but they look like beat dogs all the time. Big eyes and shaking all the goddamn time. Too much fuckin’ trauma. It’s a shame.”

“They’ll come around. It takes time. Some of these guys were in the same boat.”

Negan nodded slowly, his eyes faraway. He was older than Lucy, by a good fifteen, maybe twenty years. Maybe more. He looked younger when he smiled, but right now he looked tired. Tired and sad.

A bell clanged, five slow rings that heralded the end of work. The scene around them froze while the children listened, some holding out their fingers to count each ring. Once they got to five and the bell stopped, each kid seemed to sigh in unison. A few whooped in excitement, followed by frantic shushing. They chattered in low voices and collected their tools, cleaning up their areas with a speed known only to children who have fun on the horizon and chores in the way. Then, like little dutiful ants towards the hive, they marched towards the main building, the large welcome center and gift shop.

Lucy watched the stranger as he looked out over her settlement. There was danger there, she didn’t misread that, but the danger was not for them. Still, proceed with caution was her motto.

He looked over at her, and she glanced away, embarrassed to be caught staring. “I’ll take your deal,” he said finally. “With one caveat.”

“And what’s that?”

He broke into a grin. “I’m fuckin’ coming back.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “Not to stir shit up, just to help. You’ll see.”

“Hah! Aren’t you the confident one. But no, I’m sorry. You aren’t. We’re just fine here.” After a split second: “But thanks for the thought, if you’re genuine.”

Negan shrugged and began to walk towards the welcome center in an easy swagger. “You’ll change your mind, darlin’, don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder. He began to whistle a slow, low tune that faded as he walked away.

Lucy looked back towards his men, her eyebrow cocked up. Kevin, the nervous guy, shrugged apologetically. “He’s probably right. Sorry. Changing minds is his speciality.” Then he and the others shuffled after Negan.

Lucy shook her head, then wrangled the last of the dawdlers in towards the welcome center. Something told her to believe them.

/ / / / /

Inside the Littlechapel Gift Shoppe was a spacious entry room. Shelves that once held knick-knacks and miscellaneous goods for tourists had been shoved against the wall, now filled with board games, puzzles, and art supplies. A long counter still had a dusty cash register on it, but instead of keychains and lip balm for sale, now bins lined the top filled with dirty work gloves and hats disposed by the kids. One counter held a basin with clean water and rags where some of the kids were wiping down their faces and hands, dropping the wet rags in a bucket below. One side of the room had card tables and a hodgepodge of chairs, the other side was bare except for a big stack of carpet squares and an old TV strapped to a wheeling cart with an even older VCR beneath it. 

Negan stepped aside from the entrance, trailed by his men, watching the goings-on with a deep fascination. A cluster of kids were going through the carpet squares to select the best ones, then set them down in neat little lines on the empty half of the room. Little ducklings all rowed up. The bigger kids helped the smaller ones in some sort of a buddy system, and the few teenagers he saw were constantly scanning and counting heads.

The Saviors were on the harsh end of some very suspicious glares, _stranger_ danger, they seemed to say, so he chuckled and waved the men towards one corner where they’d be out of the way. Kevin hopped up and sat on a small square of free space on the countertop, and Snake was rummaging around in his pockets for cigarettes. He nearly lit it when a dramatic gasp from one of the little ones sufficiently shamed him into abandoning his endeavor with a sheepish grin. Instead, he twirled the lighter in his hand and clicked it occasionally, until Negan elbowed him to knock it off.

The last stragglers hustled through the door had Lucy in tow. Slung over one hip, she carried a toddler with blue eyes that seemed permanently fixed in a state of shock. A little bowl of crackers were clutched in her tiny hand and she shoveled them down as if it were here last meal. If Negan hadn’t guessed the little tike had probably seen hell, it would have been an almost funny.

A hush fell over the kids after a few more moments of squirming and shushing. Lined up, eyes on Lucy, mouths closed.

She smiled at them all, a genuinely happy smile that lit up her face. “Anyone missing a buddy?” Dozens of heads shook no.

“Wonderful! Alright, head count?”

The child at the head of each row jumped up and began to count the kids that sat behind them. Then, the last child in each row jumped up and repeated the process. The two numbers were compared for accuracy, then reported to Lucy, who tallied in a large notebook.

“Great, looks like we got everyone- ‘cept the four on the wall back there. We’ll have a little talk, then it’s potty break before supper. Cupcake? You’re excused. Take a few helpers, if you need ‘em.”

A lanky teenage girl stood up, searching for particular faces in the crowd. Many eyes were hopeful, longing, but they would be crushed soon enough. The girl named Cupcake pointed to two girls. “Uh, Sophie P and Sophie D. That’s all I need, I think.”

A collective sigh of disappointment. Apparently, helping in the kitchen was highly coveted here, and a source of disappointment to those excluded.

Lucy turned to the Saviors, explaining. “Cupcake’s our resident chef. She’s a genius in the kitchen, and we’re _very_ lucky.”

Cupcake blushed a little, but looked rather pleased.

_Wish I could get my people that fucking excited about kitchen duty,_ Negan thought. He’d have to speak with this woman about her methods. Well, about lots of stuff, including how ‘bout they knock boots, do a little horizontal tango, but Negan guessed if he stared with that, they’d have their asses out on the road.

Lucy set the toddler down. The little girl wobbled shakily over to a nearby lap, and plonked herself down, grinning a half-toothed smile before leaning down to pull on the Velcro on her shoes.

“Okay gang,” Lucy said. “Today, you’ll notice we have some new… friends.” She gestured over towards the Saviors. “Our group ran into their group getting shot at by some bad guys. Billy thinks it may have been the Diamondbacks from Macon looking for trouble. If so, that means they’re getting further up the mountain and closer to us. They are bad news, so we gotta be extra careful and cautious, okay? All trips need to be cleared with me first, and let’s keep our eyes peeled on patrol. We’re far from the main road, but just in case, let’s remember to keep things quiet, even outside, within reason. Got it?”

Dozens of nodding heads.

“Great. Now, onto our new friends. One of their guys got hurt today, so he’s resting up in the big house. Little Lucy’s making sure he stays stable and Fletch is with her for protection. The rest of our new friends are going to spend the night in the old workshop, then we’re going to take them home tomorrow.”

A hand shot up. “They’ll wear a hood?”

Lucy nodded. “Yep, always. Now, we haven’t gotten many outsiders, especially not for awhile. I know you got a lot of questions for them, and after supper maybe we can ask them. But first, we gotta take care of business. I got the next five guards scheduled to relieve Wall Duty, but any volunteers? I think we should have a few extra out tonight, just in case.”

Billy, the serious kid that seemed awfully comfortable having Negan at gunpoint, raised his hand. “I’ll go. Don’t have any interest in the newcomers anyways.” The corner of Lucy’s lips twitched, but she just nodded and jotted in her notebook.

_Well, fuck you too._ Negan couldn’t help but like the little shithead.

Another hand shot up belonging to a young girl with taped up glasses. “What about the Offering?” she asked in a small voice. “It’s tonight. We didn’t pick who has to go.”

The room grew quiet. Negan snapped to attention. He checked his own men’s reaction: Kevin was pulling at a thread on his sleeve, Snake was staring out the window looking bored. Only Daryl caught his eye, then shrugged imperceptibly. Lucy froze for a moment, her face paling. Her eyes flicked over to the Saviors and she dropped her voice a little. “Oh. No, you’re right- it’s that time again. With the hectic day I nearly- let’s just do same group as last week. Who was it?”

A few voices groaned. Lucy scanned the crowd for the source. “Ah, the Doubles. Sorry, guys.”

“Thanks a lot, Rach!” said a set of scowling twin boys in unison. “We always have to go.” Curiously, another set of twins, a boy and a girl, also shook their heads in displeasure.

Negan had spotted the scowling twins earlier, hulking teenagers that were nearly his own height, though they couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Little hints of facial hair peppered their upper lips in an attempt at puberty, though even at their young age, they’d put up a hell of a fight.

“Hey, now, be nice,” Lucy said. “The Doubles are our set of twins. Two different families, though.” She explained to the Saviors before turning back to the kids. “Sorry, time got away from us- from me, I mean. I’ll make it up to you. Hang around after and we’ll talk.” The twins, both sets, nodded.

Negan was intrigued, if not also highly annoyed. An offering? Sounded like someone got here before Negan did, but maybe not. It could be some weird ritual thing, but the younger kids look almost…scared when it was brought up. Lucy acted cagey about it, which meant Negan wanted to- no, _needed to_ pry a bit more.

The whole proceedings were fascinating, if he was being honest. They talked a bit more about stranger danger, don’t leave their buddy without saying something, blah blah blah. Negan wasn’t paying attention anymore. After a few more reminders, Lucy dismissed the kids. Those who hadn’t washed up yet scampered to the washing basins, the others scattered to restrooms somewhere deeper within the building. The creaky wooden floors shuddered at the stampede of tiny feet, followed by the rattling of old pipes and chittering voices.

The lights flickered momentarily but stayed on. Judging by the solar panels and several generators outside, Negan judged them to be fairly self-sufficient in terms of power. Likely in most other ways, judging by how long they’d lasted so far.

“You got quite the set-up,” Kevin said to Lucy as she slipped some papers into a folder on her clipboard. “How do you get ‘em all to listen?”

Lucy laughed. It echoed in the large, and now empty, room. “It wasn’t easy, if I’m being honest. But we’ve had plenty of practice by now. I’ve learned by now not to keep ‘em sitting for too long, they get squirrelly. Can’t keep them inside for too long either. Let them mix-up together, big kids and little kids. The little ones watch the big ones and try to mirror their behavior. Sometimes that works to my advantage, sometimes not. With this many kids, I have to trust a lot of them now, and they comply for the most part. It was a lot tougher in the early days.”

Daryl nodded. “Seem like good kids,” he mumbled.

“They are. They just want to survive, same as anyone. I can’t keep them on too tight of a leash or they’ll try to break away. The rules I do have are strict, and we still act like civilized people. It’s been easier now that the older kids are teenagers, though that does come with problems of its own, of course. Now come on, I’ll show you where you’re staying tonight.”

She led them outside. The sun was low now, swallowed by the towering pine trees that surrounded the settlement. A cool air, crisp and earthy, stirred dry needles on the forest floor. They scratched the paved walkways like brittle nails, clawing after Lucy and the Saviors as she herded them towards a large detached garage and workshop a few minutes’ walk from the gift shop.

Negan shot the others a look and they slowed their pace, letting him catch up to Lucy.

“So, doll: inquiring minds and all. What’s this about an offering? You in some kind of cult or something?”

Lucy kept looking straight ahead, but her jaw clenched in response. Her eyes glowed in the low light, bright little pinpoints that missed nothing and saw everything. “No, not a cult. Listen, I can’t talk to you about that. No offense, rules and all.”

“Your rules, or someone else’s? Is it those Diamondback pricks?”

Lucy didn’t say anything for a minute. “Not mine,” she said finally. “Not the kid’s, either, or the Diamondbacks.” She snorted, the thought was amusing to her. “As if I’d be scared of those jacked up dumbasses. Now, here we are.” Keys jangled momentarily and she unlocked a side door to an old workshop. The roof was coated in old pine needles, and the outside was in desperate need of a powerwash. A few decades of mud and dirt splattered up the sides of the wall, but the building itself seemed solid.

Negan pushed down irritation. He’d have to settle for just that little tidbit, for now. Just for now. He wasn’t in his usual setting with his usual advantages to leverage. _You’re a guest here, asshole. A million fucking kids and one lady in charge. No fucking trust._

Well, he’d have to make her trust him, then. _Make._ He shook that out of his head. Sounded creepy when he repeated it. _Earn._ Better. Fuck, was he getting soft already? It was all the damn kids around, being cute and precocious and shit. He had to get out of here before he started singing campfire songs and cooking s’mores. He felt a pang from old memories, long shoved away in the recesses of his mind. That wasn’t the same man he was today. Or maybe it was. He’d always been an asshole, that hadn’t changed with the collapse.

The air was stale in the garage, a vague smell of old paint and chemicals. Heavy dust tickled their noses. Kevin sneezed violently before running back outside. Lucy struggled with cracking open the windows, years of weather and dust had practically sealed them. Negan let her try for a few minutes longer, enjoying the view of her hopping around trying to free the latch, but grew impatient and finally shooed her aside. After a brief struggle, the first window groaned opened, then he worked on the others.

Lucy rummaged around before finding a few lanterns that turned on after a good slap or two. “Sorry guys. You’ll have to help me get down some cots. I’ll put the lanterns over there- careful, some of them have broken glass. I don’t want the kids using them, but you can if you’ll mind yourselves. You may use our facilities at dinner to relieve yourselves, but at night, just go somewhere around the side, away from the buildings. Don’t get too close to the fence or one of the kids might get spooked and shoot you.”

Kevin finally wandered back in, his eyes watery and red. 

“Thanks,” Daryl mumbled finally.

With that, she left them to go get the children corralled once more as the Saviors dusted off the cots and aired out some moth-balled old blankets preserved in big plastic bins. Negan finished the last window and the air already felt cleaner. He dusted off then sat in a sturdy lawn chair, deep in thought, while the others set up.

“This is fuckin’ weird,” Snake finally said, clicking his lighter idly. “Isn’t it? All these kids here? How’d they survive so long? Most settlements crash quick and easy, even if they’d been around for awhile, but they’ve been here for years.”

Daryl nodded. “We got kicked from place to place. Overrun by walkers, other people, disease, lack of food or water. It’s not easy to maintain.” It was probably the longest Negan had ever heard Daryl speak to date. He had never asked Daryl, or Rick, about life before Alexandria. He assumed they’d been there for a long time, but it occurred to him now that might be untrue.

Kevin shook out a blanket so hard he tumbled backwards a little. “I dunno, I think it’s kinda cool. They seem to be doing okay food-wise, defense-wise. Kids look healthy and happy. That Lucy seems firm, but nice. Kinda like a good mom, or whatever she is to those kids.”

“Nice ass,” Snake said.

“Yeah. What do you think, sir?” Kevin asked Negan.

“Hmm? Yeah, great ass.”

“No, I mean about this settlement. Are we coming back, full force? Daryl here probably knows already where we are at.”

Daryl grunted. “Littlechapel Caverns,” Daryl said in a low tone. Everything Daryl said was in a low tone, though.

“Well no shit, the sign says that. But where the fuck is Littlechapel Caverns?” Snake said.

Daryl just looked at him.

“Aw, shit. You already fuckin’ know, don’t you?”

Daryl shrugged. An affirmative, in Daryl-speak. Maybe. Negan hadn’t quite cracked the code yet.

“Goddamn, he’s like a fuckin’ bloodhound,” Kevin said.

“Dunno exactly,” Daryl said.

Snake looked at Kevin and shook his head. “Man, bloodhounds just smell really good. You’re thinkin’ of something that can track well. A hawk or a jaguar or some shit. I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“No, dummy, the cops use bloodhounds to find lost kids and escaped murderers and shit. They track good _because_ of their good noses.”

Kevin and Snake continued to bicker over what animal Daryl best represented. While they were occupied, Daryl crouched near Negan, setting up the final cot.

“You think there’s another group out here?” he asked Negan. “One that’s collecting dues?”

Negan smiled. “You caught that too? Tweedle-fuckin’-Dee and Tweedle-fuckin’-Dumbass over there are more concerned about your goddamn spirit animal,” Negan said. “If there is another fuckin’ group out here, I need to talk to them about their goddamn methodology. Taking from a group of kids and creeping them the fuck out, it’s not cool, man.”

Daryl grunted in agreement and finished locking the legs of the cot. Negan sighed and stood up. “Come on, assholes. Let’s get back. I assume we’ll have to drag fuckin’ Simon out here in the pitch fuckin’ dark and I’m-“

A soft knock at the door interrupted him. Negan strode over and cracked it open. A little scowling face turned up to meet his.

“Well, if it ain’t Billy the Kid. What can I do for you, chief?”

Billy peered behind Negan with a cocked eyebrow, as if he might find nefarious dealings in the garage. “Hmm. It’s just Billy. And this is yours.”

From behind his back, he extracted Lucille, pristine and glittering in the moonlight.

“Oh, my,” Negan said, a huge grin pasted on his face. “Well, isn’t this kind.”

Billy’s scowl deepened. “Not my idea. I wanted to keep it, but Lucy said hell no. But if you even try to use that thing, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes so quick you’ll think it was a mosquito bite before you realize it was me.”

Negan nodded. He resisted ruffling the little scamp’s hair, thinking the kid would likely break a finger or two. “Got it.”

Billy spat on the ground, a little too close to Negan’s boots, then turned around and walked back towards the front gate. “Supper’s about to be served,” he called over his shoulder.

Negan chuckled and closed the door. The others looked back, curiously. All Negan could do was smile back.

_I fucking love this place._

/ / / / /

**AN:** **Thank you all for the support so far, I hope you’re enjoying the story! A settlement of mainly children has been an idea kicking around for awhile, and a fascinating situation to write. I want to acknowledge that in part of the inspiration for Littlechapel (especially the name) comes from the video game Fallout 3: Little Lamplight, where a group of children form a settlement in caverns in a post-nuclear apocalyptic world. However, Littlechapel is also inspired by numerous churches and chapels that formed within caverns (Google it, there are some way cool pictures!).**

**It’s also a very different atmosphere for Negan, who is used to exerting his authority over adults, but has a soft spot for children. Let me know your thoughts and impressions in comments/reviews if you’d like. Have a lovely day xoxo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The dining area was an organized sort of chaos. Lucy’s second favorite time of day, aside from the few solitary minutes she would sometimes manage to wrangle. Rich smells of herbs and roasted meat wafted from serving tables, where kitchen kids were filling up plates. Both of the Abby’s were serving tonight, they’d whisk away the completed plates to the eager, hungry masses. Children watched the servers with intensity, trying to catch sight of the beefy stew in a thick gravy, roasted carrots and zucchini, and a dollop of buttery mashed potatoes…oh! The kids chattered and wiggled and pointed excitedly. It was their favorite time, too. Dinner was the highlight of Littlechapel, for breakfast was typically buffet-style. Grab-it-and-go, no ceremony about it. Lunch was whatever the chefs had placed in paper sacks for each worker to take. If you missed pick-up, well, sorry: no dice.

But dinner… it was where the action happened. Trades were made (granola bar rations were in particularly high demand, as well as pocket-sized toys) stories were swapped, and plans for Off-Days solidified. Friendships solidified, alliances struck, and rarely: an enemy made. That didn’t last long though, Lucy always tried to nip those in the bud.

She looked around the dining room, a happy flush spread from her belly to her throat. She always got a little emotional at suppertime, looking over all the happy, healthy faces humming in excitement. The children waited politely, as they were taught, until everyone had a plate in front of them. They’d come far, and prosperity had come at a price. A costly one.

A door clanged open on the opposite side of the room. The Doubles filed in. Ethan and Nathan were perspiring heavily, the younger twins looked jittery and nervous. But they were all in one piece.

 _They finished the offering._ She wanted to pull them aside to check in, but she spotted Negan across the room eyeing them curiously. He caught her eye and flashed a smile. That thing could light up a room. Lucy wondered if he was a salesman, or some sort of Wall Street type before the collapse. Probably not, but she wouldn’t be surprised.

Nathan and Ethan, towering over the other twins, shot Lucy a thumbs up before taking seats at the newcomer table. The offering went fine. Uneventful, hopefully. She glanced around: the servers had nearly finished setting out plates, and food was getting cold.

Lucy panicked for a moment as she watched the twins settled in with Negan and his men. She considered moving them, but decided against it. Too suspicious. They knew not to say too much, they knew the arrangement. She’d just have to trust the Twins. She worried too much, Cupcake always told her. Maybe now was one of those times.

Eager, impatient eyes were on her and she realized they were waiting for the Daily Gratitude before digging in.

“Right!” She held her hands out, and everyone joined hands at their respective tables, bowing their heads. The newcomers looked startled for a moment, eyeing each other with hesitation, before holding one another’s hands as loosely as possible. Lucy bit back a smile.

“Ahem! We are grateful for this food and for our home,” Lucy said.

“ _We are grateful for this food and for our home,”_ the children repeated.

“We are grateful for one another.”

“ _We are grateful for one another.”_

“We will live each day with kindness, respect, and integrity.”

_“We will live each day with kindness, respect, and integrity.”_

“Together we are one.”

_“Together we are one.”_

“Rub a dub dub…”

_“…thanks for the GRUB!”_

A few of the kids cheered, then dozens of forks and spoons attacked the heaping plates voraciously. A happy hush fell over the room as the children shoveled food down, hungry after a hard day’s work. Lucy looked around and smiled, then joined in.

/ / / / /

Over at the Saviors’ table, Snake and Daryl were having a silent war as they ate. Shoulders and elbows bumped between the two as they inhaled their dinner, and each party refused to assent to the other. Normally, Negan would have sent Daryl to go sit on the floor or go fuck off in general, but he was just too tickled to be irritated. They had been relegated to a far corner, isolated from the rest of the kids at a large round table.

Except a set of gigantic, hulking twins had decided to sit at their table for some reason. Their faces still retained hints of youth, little spots here and there indicating puberty was taking hold, but they were already almost as big as the other men sitting around the table. They’d be great linebackers, or formidable on a rugby team. They were already eating like athletes anyway, shoveling food from the plate to their mouths.

“You likin’ it here?” Negan asked when one of them came up for air. The boy didn’t make eye contact, and just shrugged. Negan smiled. “Well, I’m new here and I’m already fuckin’ crazy about it!”

Blank stares. “Not s’pposed to swear,” one of them said finally.

“Shit, sorry. Oops, did it again. Shit.” Negan said. He shook his head and chuckled. “Ah, fuck it. Can’t do it. You all will just have to deal with my goddamn potty-mouth. What’s your name again?”

“Ethan. This is Nathan,” said Ethan or Nathan. Negan had already forgotten.

“I’m Negan. Nice to meet you.”

Blank stares. A shrug.

_Jesus, is this what teenagers are like? Still? Christ._

Ethan or Nathan swallowed a big gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbling like a buoy. “How come he don’t have a leather jacket like the rest of you?“ He jabbed a thumb towards Daryl.

“He doesn’t have one because…” _Shit. You’re gonna look like a dick to these kids._ How to water down the truth? _Hey kids, I took this guy as a hostage that does my bidding because his leader is a prick that annoys the fuck out of me._ Yikes.

“Haven’t earned it yet,” Daryl finished. Damn, it was a pretty good answer. Even if it was a lie.

The twin nodded slowly. “You some sort of gang? Initiation type stuff?” He kept eyeing the leather jackets. Had they been on mannequins in the mall, the kid would likely have his face pressed to the glass, fogging it with his breath. Negan filed that away for future reference.

“You could say that.” Daryl shot Negan a look. _You’re welcome._

The twins finished their plates. They seemed to try and outdo one another with big belches and half-hearted pardons, then scanned the room, bored.

Negan would have to play this carefully. The twins didn’t seem like geniuses, but they weren’t particularly chatty. Skittish, nervous. They knew they weren’t bright, which was smart, in a way. Idiots that thought they were smart were easy. But these guys…if he pried too much too early, they’d shut down. But instead, he found himself on the other side of the interrogation he’d hoped to initiate.

“There more of you?” asked Ethan. Or Nathan.

Negan broke into a slow smile. “Shit, yeah. We got a settlement of our own, just a hop, skip, and fuckin’ jump away. Mainly adults though, not a lot of kids. How’d all you end up together?”

Ethan had a small scar over his eyebrow. As long as Negan was facing them, he could tell them apart. Ethan shrugged. “Field trip. Before the biters came. Overnight camping trip for school. We were supposed to go on a cave tour.” He eyed his brother. “We got stranded here.”

Negan pointed across the room to the food-smeared toddler taking little bites from Lucy with a toothy smile. “She was born _after_ the biters came. Where’d she come from?”

Ethan looked to Nathan, who nodded in approval. “We just find kids sometimes. Some people knew where we were in the beginning. Kids got left by the gates a few times. Usually little babies. Not no more though.”

Nathan stepped in. “ _Anymore_ , dummy. Kids trust other kids. Some of the other kids we found out scavenging. They’d hide if adults came around.”

Negan nodded slowly, scanning the room once more. Lucy was at another table, crouched next to two scowling kids, playing mediator. Her plate was still full.

“You guys pretty safe here?”

The twins eyed one another. Voices rose in the room as the children finished their plate.

Negan raised his hands in surrender. “Look, I know you don’t fuckin’ trust me. I’m sure you’ve gotten fuckin’ burned in the past by shitbags. I come in fuckin’ peace.”

The twins didn’t respond. Negan shrugged and stabbed at a big piece of stew meat. It was good, seasoned well and not too tough. The gravy was thin but not watery- he’d have to talk to this Cupcake girl, get some pointers to share with his own disappointing kitchen.

Nathan poked Ethan’s arm. “I’m gonna go check if we got guard duty.”

Ethan nodded and handed his empty plate to his brother, who took both their plates and dropped them into a bin before disappearing through the kitchen doors. Finally, Ethan spoke, though his eyes remained on the table. “We’re safe enough.”

Negan put his fork down. _Now_ they were getting somewhere. “Get many biters?”

“A few, not many. We got plenty of warning systems set up. When a herd comes, we go inside and stay quiet, let them pass around the fences.”

“Not a lot of people around here to turn to biters, I guess.”

Ethan agreed. “We don’t get too many clear up here. There’s an old mine shaft downhill from here where some biters fell down awhile ago. There were a few that survived, somehow. The noise draws in others who fall down the shaft sometimes. It’s kinda funny to watch a small herd go plonk, plonk, plonk down into the mine.”

“Any outsiders? People, good or bad?”

Ethan glanced around the noisy room, then shrugged. “Nah, not anymore. Not much around here. Little piddly towns and cabins. Like I said, we’re safe enough.” Ethan glanced towards Lucy, who was clearing plates, than back to the Saviors. He looked at them with dark, appraising eyes, sizing up the men at the table. “Except…”

“Yeah?”

Ethan weighed something around in his mind. Just then, he spotted Nathan lumbering back through the doors. The twin nodded, then jerked his thumb back towards the doors.

“Nothing, never mind. Gotta go, I’m on guard duty. See ya.” Negan pictured a puff of Looney Tunes dust as Ethan jettisoned out of the room. _Poof._

Negan leaned back in his chair. “Now what the fuck do you think that was about?”

Kevin drummed nervously on the table. “Think there’s a Bigfoot here?”

“A what?”

Snake snorted into his hand, turning it into a cough. “That’s enough, buddy.”

Negan put his chair back on four legs. “No, tell me, Limp Di-uh. Shit. _Kevin._ ”

Kevin lifted his head at hearing Negan say his actual name and smiled. “A Bigfoot. Big monkey bear looking guy that walks like a human.”

“I know what a fuckin’ Bigfoot is.”

Kevin leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “You know… lots of woods here, unpopulated. You think a Bigfoot’s out here? Causing them trouble? Maybe that’s what’s got them so nervous. You know the government knew probably and was covering it-”

Snake snorted and punched Kevin lightly on the arm. “Government ain’t here anymore to cover up shit. Bigfoot is about as real as that girl you said you banged in January.”

“I did bang her!”

“We don’t got any hot redheads with glasses and a heart tattoo on her tits at Sanctuary. I checked.”

“Well maybe-“

The two began to bicker once more, their default mode. Negan bit back a smile, and tried to keep a serious face pasted on.

Daryl eyed Negan, then leaned in. “Mebbe it is something like that. They’re real, you know. My brother and I nearly shot one, once. Years ago. Cops said it was probably a mangy bear, but I knew.” He squinted off into the distance, his jaw set. “I knew.”

Kevin leaned in with interest, attempting to stutter out fifteen different questions at once. Negan kicked his shin and shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck you guys are smoking, but I’ll bet my left nut that it’s not a fuckin’ Bigfoot.”

“Alright,” Kevin said, with only a slight pout. His fingers danced over his bulging shirt pocket, where his Marlboro pack nestled. “Are we excused?”

Negan cocked his eyebrow. “What?”

“Can we leave the table do you think?”

Snake rolled his eyes. “You’re a grown fuckin’ man. I don’t think you gotta wait to be excused by Teacher over there for a smoke break.” Kevin grinned sheepishly and shrugged. The two stood up to leave.

“Well, I didn’t fuckin’ excuse you.”

At Negan’s voice, they sat back down and looked at him with innocent, expectant eyes.

“Clear your fuckin’ plates like the rest of the good kiddos, then scram. We’re not fuckin’ barbarians.” He turned to Daryl. “You can join ‘em. Kev, let Daryl-boy here bum one of your smokes.”

Kevin elbowed Daryl like an old buddy, but Daryl remained unreadable as usual. “Alright,” Kevin said.

The dining room was emptying out as kids finished their dinner and scattered to wherever the hell they were going. Negan sat for a few more minutes, enjoying the suspicious glances and whisperings of the little kid cliques. When it was only Lucy and a handful of stragglers, Negan took his plate to the cheerfully labelled “Klean-up Korner.” One of the Abby’s, Negan couldn’t remember which one, stood watch, chirping instructions like she was born to.

“Any meat scraps go here in the black bin,” she said, pointing. “Everything else goes in the green bin for compost. Then, drop your plate in the brown bin, utensils in the baskets. Thanks!” She gave him a big smile, the first he’d seen from any of them.

Negan followed the directions under her watchful eyes, then waggled his fingers at her. “Where to wash up?”

“Boy’s room is down the hall, first door on the left. Ain’t any hot water, just so you know.”

“’ _Isn’t_ ’ any,” Lucy corrected. “You and your men can have a more thorough wash-up at the workshop later tonight. We’ll bring you some hot water for the inconvenience.” She was wiping down the squeaking toddler. Cupcake emerged from the kitchens and scooped up the little girl.

“I’ll give her a bath,” she told Lucy, already halfway out the door with the little girl giggling in her arms. Lucy thanked her and started wiping down tables.

Negan found another clean rag and started wiping down too. _Shit, already whipped into fucking cleaning up after the little shits._

They cleaned in silence for a minute before Negan spoke. “Mind if I ask you some questions?”

“By the looks of it, you’ve already got all your questions answered by Ethan and Nathan.”

She was sharper than he’d expected. _Good._

“Oh, I’d say they answered some, and left some unanswered.”

“Good. Maybe I’m doing somethin’ right with them.”

“Maybe. Looks as if you’re doing alright here. You ever get trouble here?”

Lucy set down the rag and put a hand on her hip. She watched him for a second like a Catholic school nun eyeing for shenanigans. “We get plenty of trouble. This many kids, trouble is our constant companion every day.” She glanced at the stragglers, then grabbed Negan’s elbow and pulled him further away from listening ears. “Listen Mister-“

“Negan, doll.”

“Listen, Negan. We got trouble since day one. This many kids here with one woman looking out for them? You name the trouble, we’ve probably had it. Both man and nature. But I don’t need your help because, no offense, I don’t know you. You all seem halfway good and halfway bad, and likely in the spots that it needs to be. But you’ve got trouble of your own, and I’d like it very much not to add to our own. So, with all due respect, Negan, get some sleep. You’ll get breakfast in the morning, and a ride out of here. Your friend looks like he’s going to pull through, despite his bitching and moaning.

She took a deep breath and looked him square on. “Our paths do not cross any further, and I don’t want them to. End of story.”

Negan felt a bubble of anger rising. This broad had a lot of fucking nerve…

The door from the main room burst open. A little girl was dragged in by two older ones. She was staggering and crying, smudged with mud. Lucy dropped the rag in her hand and ran over, pulling the girl into her arms. Negan followed.

“God- what happened, Kira?” Lucy looked the girl over for injuries, finding none. “Negan, get out of here.”

He didn’t. The scene was chaotic, more kids trailed in to investigate the crying. The girl had trouble breathing in between chocking sobs. One of the older kids wiped her face, smeared with snot and tears. Lucy made soothing sounds, rubbing the girl’s back.

“Negan, get-“

“I _saw_ her,” Kira burst out. “I _saw_ her and _she saw me!”_ She squeaked with terror and buried her dirt-streaked face into Lucy’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to! One…one of the goats knocked over the fence and got out! I wanted to find him before the bears did!”

“Shhhh,” Lucy soothed the girl. “It’s alright, it was an accident. Negan, please-”

“But _she saw me!_ We’ll have to give her more so she isn’t mad!”

“Who?” Negan asked, crouching next to Lucy. “Who saw you?”

Lucy turned to holler at him once more to get out, when the little girl grabbed Negan’s hand. It was ice-cold, and so small. 

“The Witch!” she said, before collapsing into sobs once more. “The Witch saw me, and now she’s going to _kill_ me!”

/ / / / /


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Lucy barely got two winks of sleep before she was wide-awake, staring at the ceiling. _What a shitshow_. First, the kids go off on their own to rescue a leather-clad biker gang under fire from another leather-clad biker gang. Then, they bring their rescuees to the base for medical attention, going against all the training that Lucy tried to instill in them. No matter how hard she tried, their goodness burned brighter than their fear.

It had been no easy task to keep this place a secret, up here in the middle of nowhere. She’d scoured the roads, prying down any signs that led to the caverns. No signs, no signals on how to access the caverns through the twisting dirt roads. Now, the goddamn Witch caught one of the girls, accidental or on purpose, it didn’t matter. What was the Witch doing all the way out here anyways? She usually sent her little empty-eyed lackeys.

And the Saviors, as they called themselves. Another problem, though she didn’t quite know the severity. It took all her energy mustered with every last reserve of bossiness to push that Negan guy out of the room, he was obviously dying to know more.

They were truly, and royally fucked. They’d been in jams before, some more dire than their situation now. This time though, it felt like planets colliding. A slow start, with an inevitably tragic end.

_Shit._ She winced as an elbow caught her ribcage. Her room, usually blissfully empty, had every spare surface covered in sleeping bags. Most of the little ones were too scared to sleep with the other kids after Kira’s little incident, so one-by-one, they’d invaded her room like ants to a picnic. The queen bed was full of little hands and feet that pressed into her ribs, her back, or tangled into her hair so tightly her eyes watered.

Trying to leave the room in stealth to get fresh air was akin to tiptoeing through a field full of land-mines. But she’d have to try.

She’d nearly made it to the door after untangling herself from the arms and hands and legs and feet, then carefully stepping in between the sleeping forms. Careful. Quiet-

“Where are you going?” a little voice whispered. _Damn._ Lucy couldn’t place the voice, thick with sleep.

“I gotta pee. I’ll be right back, honey.”

“What’s going on?” Another voice asked. Lucy closed her eyes. _So close._

After taking five kids on a potty break and getting them back to the right sleeping bag (which was a challenge in itself), she finally closed her bedroom door with whispered promises that she’d be back soon. And _don’t_ wake up the other kids. The mumbled replies were not as agreeable as she’d hoped.

She threw on her thick boots and a heavy flannel jacket. She crept into her office and pulled open an innocuous drawer, feeling for her secret stash. Foil crinkled and she let out a sigh. She stepped out of the main building and nodded to Ethan on duty.

“Just going to check and make sure our _guests_ are where they’re supposed to be,” she said, before ducking into the darkness.

It wasn’t a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the truth. She crept to the garage on the far side so her story looked straight, but stayed a good distance away. Hopefully the visitors were fast asleep, but if not, she didn’t want to invite any questions. Instead she ducked behind a tiny shed, out of sight of the guards she trained so well, and pulled out a cigarette. Fumbling for a lighter, she swore when she couldn’t find it.

“Need a light?” A voice cut through the darkness. An orangish glow and a shadow in the moonlight.

“Jesus!” Lucy whispered. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The shadow grew closer, and she felt plastic fumbled into her hand. A lighter.

She lit her cigarette and inhaled, letting the nicotine and a hundred other toxins numb her senses a little. The effect was instant and soothing. Lucy eyed the shadow.

“You’re the quiet one. Sorry, I don’t remember your name,” she said in a low voice.

“Daryl.”

“Thanks, Daryl.”

He grunted in response. They smoked in silence for a minute. The air was cold and biting. An owl hooted somewhere, and branches rustled softly. It felt almost normal somehow, as if they were just two smokers waiting for the bus to arrive. 

“I don’t smoke a lot,” she finally said. “Maybe once a month or so. I don’t ask the kids to get them for me, but sometimes they find them. They’re useful for trading, though we don’t get much of that.”

“Mmm,” was the only response for a moment. “So you got a shitload of smokes somewhere?”

Lucy chuckled softly. “I guess you could say that. I was debating sending some off with you all in the morning. I sure as hell can’t smoke ‘em all. I know the older kids go in every once in awhile and sneak a pack, little bastards. The less we have of these, the better.”

“Mmm.”

They fell into the natural casual chat of smokers, an unspoken bond of honesty that comes from a shared addiction. Although conversation with Daryl was a bit akin to wresting with a porcupine. Prickly, awkward, and sometimes difficult.

“You don’t seem to be a part of the others,” Lucy said. She could barely read his features in the low light. Speaking to a shadow.

“I ain’t.”

“Oh.”

He sighed. Foil crinkled as he rummaged for another cigarette. “Can’t sleep?”

“No, too many kids in my room. They got spooked.” Lucy took another drag, inhaled deeply, and let out a big exhale of smoke that made her light-headed.

“Mmm. From that Witch shit?”

Lucy froze for a moment. Could he be trusted? Could any of them? But in the end, she didn’t know if it really mattered if they found out. She was so tired of being alone. “Yeah. The Witch shit.”

Daryl snorted but turned it into a quiet cough. “Is it a real witch? Like, spells n’ shit?”

Lucy felt around for the stump she usually sat on in her nighttime escapade, but it was too damp to sit on without soaking through her jeans. “Don’t know… probably. She certainly acts the part.”

Daryl grunted, and didn’t prod further. Lucy liked that. The moon was bright, but the thick trees impeded much of the light. They smoked in silence for another moment.

“Are those guys you aren’t a part of good or bad?” Lucy asked.

Daryl shrugged. She didn’t see it, but heard his clothes rustle. “Usually swings on the bad side for most people, including me.” His face glowed eerily from the glow of his cigarette. “But you’re safe, I think.”

“You- or they, I guess, won’t mess with us?”

“Nah. Negan don’t hurt women or kids. He doesn’t like not knowing shit, though. Probably won’t drop it until you tell him more.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s cigarette was only a stump now. She dragged it across the side of the building and dropped the stub into an empty can she hid just for this purpose. Daryl fumbled around for a moment and gave her one of his cigarettes.

“My lungs are going to hurt in the morning.” She lit it and inhaled. “Mmm. Menthol.”

“Small price to pay. Best things in life ain’t free.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Mmm.”

They finished up their cigarettes and bid one another a good night. She felt a little more at ease, Daryl didn’t seem like much of a liar. The unspoken bond between two people sneaking away to smoke – truth and honesty always prevailed.

Lucy finally managed to steal a few hours of sleep on a worn sofa tucked in a storage room. She was still up before most of the kids, although Cupcake already had breakfast cooking. That kid could do things with Spam and eggs from their few remaining chickens that would knock the socks off any decent chef. As dawn broke, Lucy wrangled up the last stragglers still buried in their blankets and got a head count: all clear.

The kids were pretty good on their own in the morning. They were usually too sleepy to provide much trouble, and the ones that were usually grumpy were given sufficient space by the others. Routine kept things going smooth, the kids knew what to expect and when to expect it. The garage where the strangers slept was still quiet, but she’d seen the scrawny one sneak off around the garage to answer nature’s call, so they’d likely be up soon.

She found Billy and Abby bickering in the main garage. The garage was restricted to most of the kids, only a handful were trusted with copies of the keys. It was huge, full of equipment for the caverns like spare lights, rods, and a few extra generators of varying sizes and ages. On one side, the garage held their precious Hail Mary, hidden under several giant canvas covers: a large schoolbus always kept ready, stocked with supplies and decked out with anti-walker defenses.

Just in case. With the amount of kids she had to look after, “just in case” was a running theme for Lucy.

“Who’s transporting our new friends?” Lucy asked over the raised voices. Billy and Abby turned towards her. Abby’s arms were crossed defiantly, Billy flicking irritably at his holster. One day, these two would either murder or marry one another. Lucy’s guess on which it would be varied from day to day.

“Billy _thinks_ he is, but I’m trying to get it through his thick skull that he’s needed _here._ Just in case the Witch comes back.”

_Just in case._

Lucy turned to Billy. “And what’s your counter-argument?”

Billy adjusted his hat. “She may come, but she might not. _Those_ assholes-” he flipped his thumb in a vague direction towards the newcomers, “-are already here, and the sooner they git, the better.”

“Language.”

“Sorry ma’am.”

They looked expectantly towards Lucy for the final decision. She looked around the garage, assessing their functional and non-functional vehicles. Stark was already working on one of the cars they’d salvaged from the gunfight yesterday, and there were still some vehicles left to inspect and haul back.

“Let’s make it a useful trip. Billy goes with you, Abby-“

Abby scoffed, but clamped her mouth shut when Lucy held up her hand.

“Billy goes with you. Take the van and that piece of crap hatchback. The newcomers can figure out how to cram themselves in there.”

“What about the injured one?”

Lucy shrugged. “He was shot in the shoulder, he can sit up for a car ride. I don’t want to waste any more resources fixing that hatchback up when we’ve got plenty of other more useful cars.”

“Yes ma’am,” Billy mumbled. Though he was as sour as a mouthful of vinegar, he still had the politeness of a southern gentleman with the few people he respected.

Lucy smiled and put a hand on Abby’s shoulder. The girl’s scowl pulled into a tight smile, but Lucy wasn’t fooled. “On the way back, drop Billy and Stark off at that bar. Take a few helping hands, see if there’s anything else left. Stark said there were a few of the motorcycles that wouldn’t run but he could fix ‘em back here.”

Billy eyed Lucy through squinted eyes. “I thought we weren’t allowed to have motorcycles here.” Something he’d been dying for and constantly denied.

“Well, that was when you all were piddly little things with short little legs. Might be useful to have a bike for scavenging for the older kids. IF, and only if, they prove they can drive safely. I don’t want them here, too noisy. But we can scatter them around a safe distance, keep ‘em hidden.” 

“Do we tell the Witch?” Abby asked quietly. She was chewing on her lip nervously, and didn’t make eye contact. If anyone deserved to be nervous about the Witch, it was Abby. God, it took weeks to get her talking again, after that cold winter night…

Lucy shook her head. “If we don’t bring them here, she and her followers likely won’t see. They don’t go that far down the mountain, anyways. Stark will have to use the bar there, fix up the bikes behind closed doors. Then, we ride them out at night, _carefully,_ no lights.”

Billy nodded in agreement. “I’ll talk to Fletch about it. He’ll have some good spots somewhere in all those maps to put the bikes. Maybe near some of the emergency caches, but not too close.”

Lucy looked between the two of them. A swell of emotion rose, but she pushed it down. When did they get so big? It wasn’t that long ago she was pulling splinters out of Billy’s hands, wiping Abby’s nose for her when she was sick. Would they still need her when they were all grown up?

They were staring at her curiously until she snapped back to the present. Lucy cleared her throat. “Alright. I’ll have the newcomers wait by the gate. Don’t forget headcovers for ‘em.”

“Pshh,” Abby said. “What are we, dumb? Shut up, Billy, don’t even say it. Anyways, I already got them ready. The headcovers.”

Lucy smiled at them both, then turned to leave the garage. Instead of the usual bickering, the two teenagers now had their heads close together, whispering conspiratorially about getting the motorcycles transported.

Yes, it wouldn’t be too long before they wouldn’t need her anymore. But would they make it that long? She couldn’t help but wonder, with a pang of fear and nausea.

/ / / /

The roads seemed bumpier than before, Negan thought as they careened down the mountain roads, blinded and jostling into one another. After a brief, unemotional goodbye, Negan and the Saviors were dismissed with five cartons of smokes, a few bottles of rum, a duffle bag full of miscellaneous supplies, and a stern warning to stay the hell away.

_Like fuck I will,_ Negan thought, but he nodded and said some smart-alecky comment that he couldn’t quite remember now. As they waited by Littlechapel’s front gates for their ride, he noticed some of the kids unloading a truck bed. They glared at him, but said nothing. It was only empty crates and boxes they tossed out of the truck.

_Where did the contents go?_ Negan wondered.

There was something about this place he couldn’t drop. This many kids alive and functioning, almost embarrassingly better than most other settlements, was a miracle in itself. But there was something about the woods that surrounded them. Whispers that trailed around the trees, soft footsteps that weren’t quite animal, weren’t quite human. Noises that seemed to drift halfway between animal and human.

Negan was shaken from his thoughts when they hit a pothole and Simon swore quietly. They were told to be quiet, and the click of a safety reassured the instruction would be followed. Negan rolled his eyes, though only he knew it underneath his hood. Simon had limped out of his recovery room- _limped_ , mind you, for a goddamn shoulder injury. Holding it and making little references to bravery and courage under fire. Negan wondered if these kids would mind if he bashed Simon’s head in with a seatbelt buckle. Maybe strangulation – watch the light go out slowly behind his eyes. But no- he’d need Simon at some point in the future. Instead he kept his murderous fantasies in his head, for now.

And speaking of walkers- they hadn’t seen a trace of them at Littlechapel. It made sense, being this was in the middle of nowhere, even pre-Collapse. Was there finally a place not threatened by the undead? The mountains were slow to navigate and some of the steep grades were difficult terrain for walkers. In winter, it snowed clear up there. Maybe…

The Kid and his companion, the ginger nerdy kid, murmured to one another. Negan strained to listen, but got nothing important. How old were they when they were taught to drive, and was it Lucy who taught them? Did they need help to reach the pedals?

Negan shifted a little to get circulation back into his cuffed hands. He had to take a piss- they’d be driving for nearly an hour now through winding roads. It was stuffy and crowded, the air was growing heavy and humid. And now Kevin was burping a little, making little uncomfortable moans. If he threw up, Negan would-

The brakes squealed to a halt, and the Saviors slammed into the seats in front of them. Simon swore loudly. A door opened and they were yanked out of the van, small hands yet surprisingly strong hands tugging them this way and that.

“Stand here for a minute,” the Kid said. “Don’t say shit or I’ll take out your kneecaps.”

Negan liked this kid. Reminded him a little of Rick’s boy, but raised by wolves. Tough as nails.

Metal springs popped, and their cuffs were removed one by one. The hoods remained untouched. Then, the Kid spoke.

“Car keys are further down the road. You can take the hoods off when you don’t hear the car engine. Anyone takes it off early, I’ll pop you good.”

Then, an engine turned and wheels crunched on asphalt. Negan waited a minute, he could still hear the engine but doubted the Kid was serious, before he pulled off his hood.

“Shit, it’s bright,” he said, holding his hand up to block the sudden glare of daylight. The rest of the Saviors pulled theirs off, Simon making a little noise as he lifted his arm. The fresh air was freeing.

They were in the middle of a road in some small no-name hick town. Negan turned around a few times, but didn’t recognize where exactly they were. Off the distance, the mountains loomed. They must’ve been driven fifty, sixty miles away. A few walkers were shambling over, attracted by the noise. Too far to present much of a threat, but a reminder that the Saviors ought to hustle. Near them, a little piece-of-shit hatchback waited expectantly, doors wide open.

Daryl wandered a few feet away and picked up jingling keys glistening in the sun.

“Shit,” Kevin exhaled. “That was an experience.”

Negan grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the car. Kevin yelped, grasping at Negan’s large fingers pressing down on his esophagus. The others froze and glanced around at one another, unsure of what to do.

“And _none_ of us is going to say shit about this, got it?” Negan turned to the others, waiting for a nod of agreement from each of them. “We had bad luck on supplies, overrun and trapped until a herd passed. If I hear _anyone_ breathe a word about that settlement, I’ll string you up on the front gate by your balls, and let walkers tear you the fuck up.”

He released Kevin, who immediately slid down to the ground, gasping for air. “Jesus…what’s the big…deal?” He coughed and spat up a wad of phlegm.

Daryl spoke, which shocked them all. “A settlement full of kids? There’s a reason they keep to themselves. It ain’t friendly out here for kids. Word gets out, might get to the wrong people.”

Negan nodded in agreement. “Fuckin’ Daryl speaks the goddamn truth. They’ve done a good job so far staying secret, let’s not fuck it up for them. Not yet, anyways.”

A walker growled nearby. Snake went to shut the trunk of the car, then cried out in surprise. He pulled out Lucille and a handful of guns with ammo.

“There’s some supplies back here too. The cigarettes, booze, but also some diapers, kid’s books and toys.”

Negan snatched Lucille and inspected her carefully. She was pristine, thank fuck. He took the keys from Daryl and crawled into the cramped car. Simon took the passenger seat and the others crammed in the back. Soon, they were off in the general direction of home: Sanctuary.

Kevin gazed out of the window thoughtfully. “That really was somethin’. Outfoxed by a buncha kids.”

“Sure was, Kev,” Negan said, staring into the road that lay ahead. “It sure was.”

/ / / / /


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The river was higher than usual this time of year. It had been a hard winter, but all the extra snow meant more snow melt trickled down from the mountain peaks into the valleys below. Willow watched the riverbeds carefully from an old oak tree. Bears were fattening up about this time, and although she was probably too scrawny to prove tempting, she didn’t care to test out her theory.

It was quiet, peaceful. The river rushed below, frigid but clear. A few rabbits were rustling in a bush nearby. She could try to trap them, but they’d eaten their share of roasted hare during the thick snowfalls. Rabbit meat didn’t stick in the belly, hunger set in soon anyways.

Seeing no imminent danger, Willow slid down the oak tree, landing with a soft thud. She would be maybe twenty years old or so now, but age didn’t matter anymore. Just surviving. Her hair was cut short for convenience, closely cropped and likely a poor job done, although she’d never been accused of vanity. Alive or dead, that’s all that matters. Keep the tribe alive.

She scrambled down the riverbed to a small alcove where some of the river water collected. A tree was overturned, old and ancient, with heavy netting wrapped around the thick trunk that collected the river boon below. Willow pulled off her worn boots and waded in, hissing at the icy-cold water. The lines were still tight, and when she lifted the nets, fish flapped in protest, gaping mouths searching for water and finding none.

Willow loaded the prizes in two large baskets nearby and threaded a long stick through the handles. Then, she holstered the stick behind her neck, and carried her fishy harvest back home. She sang softly, an old Irish song her grandmother used to sing in Gaelic. She didn’t know what the words meant, but the song was pretty and it was a fine day outside.

It was a good catch, and once the fish were salted and smoked, they’d have enough to feed them for almost the whole week. _The Witch will be pleased_ , Willow thought happily. Then, if she found out about the little girl that followed Willow the other night and spied on the Witches’ ceremony, she would remember Willow’s boon and be merciful. She hoped, anyways.

Yes, it was sure to be a good day.

/ / / / /

Ever since he returned from Littlechapel, Negan couldn’t help but look at his own settlement through new eyes. Sanctuary, despite the name, was a dingy, reclaimed factory in a concrete jungle. An asphalt road provided easy access for travel, and the area itself was bare, only a handful of other industrial buildings deemed too dangerous to reside in with old chemicals and toxic barrels leaking God-Knows-What into the air, into the soil. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to properly dispose of the stuff, and so it would poison the earth long after the last person fled.

Sure, there were trees nearby, forests even, that the Saviors hunted and trapped in, but the aesthetics were lacking. Negan worried occasionally about explosions in the area from the other abandoned places. Volatile materials building up, all it took would be one spark, and _KABLOOEY._

But Sanctuary was alright. It was imposing, but safe. Not pretty.

Sanctuary housed almost two hundred people, almost half of them were Saviors in some shape or form. The rest were survivors of varying pre-Collapse professions (and of varying usefulness, in Negan’s opinion), although anyone could push a broom or clear plates away. Halfway-Harry didn’t have all the lights on upstairs (Negan used to joke Harry was always “halfway there,” and the name stuck) and even he could make himself useful working on salvaged cars so long as someone brought him food from time-to-time and made sure he stayed away from peeping in on the ladies’ showers.

Negan leaned on the railing of his balcony, high up on the factory and sipped bitter black coffee. The sting of hot asphalt hung in the air, as always, but it was particularly pungent today. The sun beat down, slowly eroding everything man-made that lay outside with a pleasant warmth.

Rick the Prick had gotten lucky with his digs, beautiful suburbia that came with impressive defenses. Hilltop was picturesque too, an old plantation house on fields of grass. Even the Kingdom, which Negan rarely visited, was set in an old school, plenty of trees and flowerbeds that broke up the concrete expanses. Negan’s own kingdom was just asphalt, concrete, and sheet metal. Even the gardens were on asphalt in raised beds. Pitiful little plants prone to disease that sputtered out meager offerings, struggled not to be baked in the steel containers and radiating heat from the ground below. The soil was bad, the workers said, but they tried all different kinds to no avail.

The air filled with the sound of hammering, sawing, residents going about their little jobs like good worker ants. Negan took a sip of coffee and braced himself against the bitterness. _Christ,_ he thought. _Even those kids could make a better cup of coffee._ A whole settlement of kids that was far more picturesque than anything he’d ever seen. How in the hell had they managed to pull that off?

He poured out the rest of the coffee over the balcony. It splattered on the ground below, narrowly avoiding a Savior carrying lumber who looked around in confusion for a moment before proceeding. _Maybe now it will smell like shitty coffee and asphalt._

His office was large enough to house several loitering Saviors, although this morning it was blissfully empty. Too early for most of them to come bother him. The floor was cold concrete, hardly inviting, which was why he used to love it. Now, he looked around at the grey floors, grey walls, bland standard white-tiled ceiling used in any generic soul-sucking office. The bar had a nice mahogany finish though, probably the nicest thing in here. At least it didn’t smell like asphalt in here, it just smelled….grey. Like nothing in particular, not even like Negan. He wasn’t in here often enough, he realized.

Neither had he visited his wives in some time. Four lovely ladies, hand-picked and offered the world. But time eroded their initial affection, and now all he got from them was blank looks, or sloppy drunken flirtations when they wanted something. Only Sherry still seemed to hold some sort of regard for him, and even that was tenuous at best. Negan was adrift, a ship without an anchor.

Papers and ledgers were strewn about the desk. Negan flipped through them idly, not registering their contents. He relied more on his people telling him what was going on, none of this record-keeping that the Accountant was obsessed by. Nice guy, he took a lot off of Negan’s plate. But boy, he sure loved graphs and charts, and Negan sure as hell didn’t.

Just as he sat down to look over reports from the outposts, someone knocked on the door.

“Yeah?”

Dwight opened the door. “Got a minute, sir?”

Negan nodded. Dwight shut the door behind him and took a seat across from Negan’s desk. His blond hair hung long over his ears, and partially obscured his half-burnt face. He was nervous, but not more so than usual. Dwight had a nervous aura of sorts, but not the spastic, visible nervousness like Kevin. Dwight’s was more of…heightened awareness. He could sense Negan’s moods sometimes before even Negan could.

“What do you know about someone that calls themselves ‘The Witch?’” Negan asked.

Dwight shrugged. “Never heard of them. Why?”

“Just heard some fuckin’ whispers. I want to know who they are before they know about us. Get on the horn to the outposts, just ask around. They might operate up in the mountains, out of our reach. Casual, no need to raise an alarm. Just curious.”

“Alright, I’ll ask around. Sir.” Dwight glanced around the office. Though he’d already eyed the room thoroughly when he first came in, he had a habit of constantly scanning. It made Negan feel more at ease, although it made most others nervous. Like Dwight could see things that they couldn’t.

Negan raised his eyebrows. “Drop the ‘sir’ shit, it’s just us in here, Dwighty-boy. So, what the fuck do you want?”

“Thought I’d give you a rundown, got a few things that need your attention, sir. Er, sorry.”

“Pro-fuckin’-ceed.”

Dwight pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “Let’s see. Doc says Simon will recover, and said, in private, it’s not as bad as Simon is letting on. It was a clean wound, muscle only. Doc thinks he’s trying to get extra painkillers but he just needs to take it easy. No heavy lifting, you know the drill.”

Negan sighed. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Alright. Pick-ups for the Kingdom and Hilltop went well, although the Kingdom was short a few boxes. Said they had some deer jump the fence and got to some of the crops, but now they’ve got plenty of venison for jerky, and they’ve give us extra next time when the meat is smoked. They called ahead like they were supposed to, so Arat and the gang only gave them a little bit of grief. Hilltop was in order, but I think there’s something up with Timothy. He’s acting squirrelly.”

“He’s always fuckin’ squirrelly.”

“Well, more so that usual.”

“Alright. We’ll send Simon over with some men once Doc clears him, keep an eye on Timothy. I don’t want Simon around here anyways, he stirs up too much fuckin’ trouble. He’s better with the illusion of authority, so I’ll give it to ‘em.”

Dwight scribbled on the paper. “We’re due for a run to Alexandria, I figured you’d want to come along for that.” Negan nodded. ”Last thing, Outpost Bravo reports one of their scouts saw a massive herd coming from the Atlanta area, headed in our general area. May be a week or so out, or they may change direction.”

“Have Bravo track the herd from a safe distance. If they are still on course in another day or so, divert ‘em back.”

More scribbling. “Alright. Lastly, the Accountant’s got a bug up his ass about something. He won’t tell me what it is.”

Negan chuckled. The Accountant was a little balding man with thick spectacles that seemed to thrive with numbers and ledgers. He had been incredibly useful, though his standards for a problem were vastly different than Negan’s standard. He leaned back and shook his head. “That little pencil-pusher always has a fuckin’ bee in his bonnet.”

“Well, this is different. He usually broadcasts to everyone what’s wrong, and he’s being cagey about this one. Says he’ll only talk to you.” Dwight shrugged. Negan felt a pang – it was unusual. Outside of normal behavior, which meant something was outside of the normal operations. He didn’t let Dwight on, instead casually strolling towards the balcony door.

“Well, doesn’t he know how to create suspense? Send him up when you see him.” Negan pulled the doors open, allowing a rush of air to fill the office. He went back to his desk and shuffled papers again, looking for the inventory logs to review. He looked up, and Dwight still sat there, looking unsure. “What is it?”

Dwight cleared his throat. “It’s…one more thing. About Amber.”

Negan leaned back in his chair. He knew what Dwight was going to say already, but waited for the words to escape his lips. Amber, the weakest of his wives. Pretty, but fragile. Poor impulse control. _God-fucking-dammit._

“She uh, one of the guys caught her in some storage closet. With her ex. Again.”

_Again._ This shit was getting old. Amber had never been quite content as one of Negan’s wives, even from the beginning. She was kind-hearted when she wasn’t worrying about herself and beautiful to boot, but lately all Negan ever saw her do was look miserable and slam shots of liquor like she was back in college.

Negan’s wives had a choice. They could toil and work like all the other Sanctuary residents, or they could live idly, given anything they could want and just look pretty and perform marital duties when asked. They could refuse, of course. That’s why he had multiple wives- back-up. Well, not the _only_ reason, it also showed the others Who Was The Boss. For a time, it had been fun.

But lately, they’d all been drinking from the same cup of misery, and Negan haunted their chambers less and less. Caged rabbits, wide-eyed and panicking. Not much of a turn-on. When they did want him, they were sloppy and kept their eyes closed, probably picturing someone – anyone else.

“Didn’t I already burn half of that motherfucker’s fuckin’ face?” Negan sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

“Ah. Yep.” Dwight looked down at his hands. His own unburnt cheek turned pink.

“Ah, shit. No hard feelings, Dwighty-boy. Alright, let me think on this shit, and get the fuck out.”

Dwight nodded, and slipped out of the room. Negan was half-inclined to release all four of his wives at this point. In the beginning, even Amber looked at him through hooded eyes, a soft smile, lingering touch…

But shit… now? If Sherry asked to go back with Dwight, he’d be half-inclined to agree, and no hot iron to anyone’s face this time. They’d agreed to be his wives out of lust and desperation. Negan could charm the fur coat off of a fucking Eskimo, and the wives would have an easier life, no more boiling clothes for laundry or toiling in the hot sun for some pathetic looking tomatoes. But idleness, as it often does, made them bored and petty. His wives’ guards were having to break up more and more fights over stupid, pointless things, and other (less interesting, in Negan’s opinion) women that wanted to be the fifth wife were hovering around like flies to shit. Tits up and out, lips pouted, eyes batting. All wanting to do nothing more than ride him like the last train out of Memphis.

It was…numbing. Not from lack of excitement, there always was drama at Sanctuary. Whether it was grumbles of discontent, food shortage, or approaching herd, there always was something to be concerned about.

No, this was different. Negan looked at his wives sometimes and felt…nothing. Judging by their empty eyes, they felt the same. His wives picked fights with each other, with him, and he returned the favor. But if he dropped them, it would be weak. He had bragged enough about it in the early days, forbidding anyone else from taking multiple wives. It was now automatic for him to brag about it and make little comments, just to remind everyone. But the nights he’d claim to go visit his wives for an all night love-fest, they were often spent in his office. He’d be bent over paperwork or reading some book, his wives draped over various furniture as they flicked through magazines, or slept.

_You dug this hole, now you better make a ladder. Or drown, when the inevitable storm comes._

_Shit_. Negan grabbed Lucille and stormed to the office door. He needed to go to the front gates, find a walker, and bash it to a pulp. He threw open the door, only to almost toppled over the Accountant.

The slight little man squeaked in surprise and nearly fell backwards before Negan grabbed him, his wire-rimmed glasses knocked askew. Papers and books went flying in the hallway like a flock of startled birds.

After several stammered apologies and a good five minutes of picking up the loose papers and books, Negan was back at his desk. The walls were closing in tighter and tighter as he tried _very patiently_ to wait quietly as the Accountant steadied his nerves. Deep breath in, exhale out.

“So sorry, sir,” he stammered out, for the hundredth time.  
“Don’t sweat it. Now, Dwight said you had something important to tell me?” Negan racked his brain to remember the Accountant’s real name, but drew only a blank. It was an old man’s name, like Maurice or Murray…

“Ah. Yes. Apologies for the mysteries, I felt it was’t my place to share, until you decided who could be trusted, sir.”

Negan leaned forward and stretched out his hands, palms up. “Well, consider me fuckin’ interested.”

The Accountant cleared his throat and fiddled with his tie. It always impressed Negan how this little man could get up every day and put on his tweed suit, complete with a tie, as if the Collapse had never happened. He cleared his throat. “ _Ahem._ I believe someone is pilfering supplies, sir.”

Negan cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

The Accountant nodded, his glasses flashed white as they reflected the office lights. “We always have a small amount of theft, that can’t really be helped. A pack of cigarettes here, a few cans there. Inventory is made once a supply or scavenging trip comes back, in addition to our weekly inspections. But for scavenging trips, there’s also usually some theft before the supplies actually make it to Sanctuary.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a never-ending struggle for the ever-perspiring man.

Negan rolled his eyes and shot him a sheepish grin. “One of the reasons they go on those goddamn scavenging trips is to fill their own fuckin’ pockets first. Unfortunate, but an acceptable fuckin’ casualty, so long as they keep it to a dull fuckin’ roar. So what’s the problem?”

“ _Ahem._ Absolutely, I agree completely. They risk their lives, so what’s a bottle of whiskey here and there?” He pushed up his glasses. “This isn’t the problem. It’s happening after drop-off inventory is completed. I would have marked these as incidental, but they appear to be quite regular. A…pattern has emerged.”

The Accountant pulled out a series of bar graphs, and Negan suppressed a groan. He took a deep breath: inhale in for ten seconds, exhale out for six. _This is why you delegate,_ he told himself. The Accountant lived for orders and numbers, and while irritating, shifted some of Negan’s most dreaded burdens. 

The Accountant practically hummed in excitement, his voice no longer trembling and his hands as steady as a surgeon. “You see here on this chart - usually thefts are sporadic. You run a tight ship, and someone may sneak an extra can of soup for a sick friend, or a pair of socks if they can’t afford the points to purchase them.” He shuffled some papers, presenting a new chart. “Now look here- these thefts are quite regular. At least once a week, and a mix of food, ammo, medical supplies, small tools and equipment. I noticed it first with the food, which I _personally_ supervise, then requested inventories from the others. Some I can rule out as incidental, but some go missing on the same day.”

Negan glared down at the charts. They normally meant very little to him. He would shuffle through the papers, nodding and make “hmm” sounds at various intervals, then wait for the Accountant to give his recommendations. But this… it was organized, methodical. Piecemeal theft that likely would have gone largely unnoticed, if it weren’t for the meticulous bald little man that sat quietly across from him.

The Accountant waited patiently, fingers laced together and resting on the desk, as Negan flicked through the papers before him.

Finally, Negan spoke quietly. “Thank you-“ _Milton! It was Milton!_

“Thanks, Milton.” The Accountant beamed at him, pleased. Negan continued: “I’m going to think on this. You did good with this, coming straight to me.” He leaned back in his chair and studied the nervous little man’s face. “You’ve always been loyal to me, and you don’t fuckin’ cause trouble. What can I do for you? You don’t smoke. Booze? Women? My wife Tanya has a thing for eggheads. You show her these graphs and her panties will hit the floor like a sack of bricks.”

The Accountant chuckled nervously, his cheeks now bright pink, and he pushed up his glasses. “Ah, no. Thank you, but I politely decline. I don’t require anything…” His eyes lit up, and he leaned forward excited. “Actually, now that you mention it – just a trifle really, but it would be immensely helpful. I could use a spare pair of glasses, I can write down the prescription, should your men ever come across the correct kind. Nothing flashy, please. And a new typewriter would be a delight – the carriage gets stuck on the one I have, and oh! The ink gets everywhere.”

Negan flashed a smile. “You got it. I’ll have my men keep an eye out on their rounds.”

“Very good, sir!”

When he was finally alone again, Negan looked over the list of missing supplies. A wide variety of things, and all essential to surviving the world outside.

_This asshole- whoever they are- what the fuck are they planning?_

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And Negan aimed to find out who was behind it.

**/ / / / /**

**AN: Hope you all are enjoying the story so far! I originally aimed to do updates every other weekend, but my work/life balance has been severely tilted towards "work" at the moment and I scarcely have enough free time to take care of myself, let alone write. Your comments, favorites, PMs, etc. are always appreciated and provide me much needed sustenance. I appreciate all of you, even you: the silent reader that come and devour stories. Me too. I read to escape from the world, to recharge my batteries, sometimes to forget the messes and anxieties of the world. I know some of you do, too.**

**Please stay safe out there, don't let worries paralyze you, and take care, lovelies.**

**xoxoxox**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was midday and hot, but not the humid, oppressive heat of summer. A cool breeze brought relief, rustling the slowly changing leaves that indicated the slow slide into autumn.

Three walkers shambled through overgrown weeds. Some of the stalks were nearly as tall as their intruders, giving an eerie look of floating rotted heads in golden fields. A twig snapped, and the walkers snarled, looking for the source through milky, rotting eyes. All three were large, burly men in life decked in flannel and denim, but now were bloated walking corpses in tattered rags.

Rick Grimes watched them carefully from across a weather-worn road, crouched behind an overturned car.

“Three,” he whispered. His sole companion, Michonne, nodded and slipped away, silent as a cat. He didn’t even see which direction she had gone, but it didn’t matter. They worked as one, and words were scarcely needed.

To the left of the floating heads, the weeds rustled almost imperceptibly. One walker disappeared in the grass with a flash of steel and a soft _thud._ The other two snarled and circled in confusion, then they soon were swallowed into the abyss too. Michonne’s head popped up from grass momentarily, then Rick followed. They stayed quiet and cautious: there could be an injured walker crawling around, or a small one hidden amongst the weeds.

“Map said it was around here, but it’s too hard to tell with all these damn weeds,” Rick muttered quietly.

“Look here,” Michonne whispered. Rick looked at her, but not where she was pointing. She was more beautiful to him every day, fierce and deadly but with a kind heart, once her defenses were down. Michonne caught his eye and gave him a smile.

“Pay attention,” she scolded with a sparkle of laughter in her eye. “The grass here is shorter – see? This used to be the road.”

Rick looked down and saw gravel in between the weeds a few feet away, the hauntings of an old road. “Alright, let’s go.”

They pushed through the tall grass, swatting at lazy bugs and pausing every few minutes to crouch, listen, wait. They heard another walker shambling somewhere in the tall grass, dragging something metallic that clattered occasionally. Rick reached out and grabbed Michonne’s hand, and she squeezed it back. The bite of cool breeze was softened by the sun’s warmth, and onward they went.

When the walker sounded closer, wheezing and gasping, Rick froze. Michonne disappeared once more, returning after a snarl and a clatter, then they only heard the sound of weeds rustling in the breeze, and their own soft footsteps.

Finally, the weeds gave out to a tangle of blackberry bushes and a low wooden fence with a rusted gate. Rick crouched behind the fence and peered over the top. No movement, no sound. Still, they sat for another minute, sipping from a water bottle Michonne withdrew from her backpack. Rick handed her a piece of jerky, and they chewed and waited. A bird cried out in the distance, and critters rustled in the blackberry bushes nearby. Despite the jerky, Rick’s stomach threatened to growl noisily, but luckily it remained slightly satisfied and stayed silent.

Rick looked one more time, noticing nothing suspect, then nodded down to Michonne. She crept to the gate and slid through the bars then he followed.

A tired old garage was nestled in a grove of trees. It leaned slightly to one side as if old weary bones rested inside, too tired to keep upright. A dilapidated, hand-painted sign had _Yeehaw Bob’s Gun Range and Ammo Depot_ scrawled on it.

Michonne cocked an eyebrow at Rick. _Seriously? Yeehaw Bob?_ He shook his head, suppressing a smile. There was a scent of sickeningly sweet- rotting fruit from the blackberry bushes, and a small cluster of apple trees to the right of Yeehaw Bob’s. A win- there were plenty of underripe baby apples on the tree. A few more weeks, and they’d be ripe for picking.

“We should keep this area clear of walkers,” Michonne whispered. “Maybe make it an outpost, if it’s safe enough. It’s out of That Bastard’s range.”

Rick nodded slowly. Michonne refused to use Negan’s name amongst their own company, and for good reason. Their first time meeting the man face-to-face, and he killed two of their own. Anger bubbled in Rick’s veins, but he took a deep breath and let it pass. Now was not the time.

The shed nearby was clear of walkers, but full of spiderwebs and rusted old tools. “Plenty of wild food growing, and animals that eat ‘em,” Michonne said as a wild hare darted from behind a bush and disappeared into the tall weeds.

Rick squinted and looked around. “Can’t live off of rabbit, though. Hopefully some deer around here.”

Michonne nodded. “Wish Daryl was here.”

“We’ll get him back.”

They picked through the shed, putting any useful items in a large duffle bag. Most of it was half-broken or half-rusted, but there were some decent pruners, a clawhammer, and a small plastic bin that still held a bounty of seeds. Michonne left the shed first, poking through some cans that littered the outside, but found nothing.

A scraping noise caused them to freeze. Rick crouched behind the shed and took out his .44. Michonne slid her katana from her back holster and they stood waiting again. 

“It came from inside,” he whispered.

“Walker?”

“Could be. Or not.” If it was a walker, the gun was a bad idea unless it was dire. Rick pulled his hunting knife out and gripped it in his left hand.

“Dual-welding? Best be careful, Mr. Grimes,” Michonne teased. Rick cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

She peeked out and eyed the old building. There were no windows they could see, only a dry-rotted front door.

“You go front, I’ll go back?”

Rick nodded. They split off, crouching low to the ground and flanked the building. Rick hugged the wall next to the door and tried the handle: locked. Rick felt a pang in his belly: he missed Glenn - he would have the lock picked in no time. Rick didn’t have the talent, nor patience for it, unfortunately.

Kicking the door would be noisy, but it looked like his only choice. Though they didn’t see any more walkers in the immediate area, there could be some lurking. Wood creaked somewhere on the other side, but he couldn’t say if it was Michonne or someone else. Now or never.

Heavy boot met the weak door, and with one hard kick the door flew open, splintering wood and dust. Rick dove quickly to the side and scanned the dark room. His pistol was drawn, resting on his left wrist which still clutched his knife, pointing blade out.

It was a dusty shopfront, untouched by scavengers. Guns and weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, and boxes of ammo lined the dusty shelves. Rick suppressed a burst of laughter bubbling in his throat and steadied himself momentarily, dizzy with glee. A few standing shelves on either side of the store held gloves and various tactical equipment. _Focus – there was a noise that drew you here._

He swept the room, down each shelf. A pathway of sun split the room where the door had once been, and it was then Rick noticed faint boot prints in the dust – not his own. Dark splatters accompanied the boot prints: blood. A walker wouldn’t lock the door, so Rick holstered his knife, and followed the prints. They led behind the counter, to the left of a big steel door that led to the rest of the building, where Michonne likely was.

He spun around the corner where the prints led, gun drawn.

“Don’t shoot,” a weak voice said. Rick lifted his free hand to his nose to block out the smell.

A skeletal figure slumped in the corner, a knife loosely dangled from one hand. Had he not spoken, Rick would have sworn he was dead. He was smaller than Rick, and severely malnourished from the looks of it. The sunlight was dim here, but Rick could see bandages soaked with old blood. Then, the smell hit him.

Rotting infection, and the sting of ammonia- likely urine. Like the festering blackberries outside that littered the ground, but far more powerful and acrid. The man dropped the knife and held up his hands weakly in surrender, but dropped them down quickly from exhaustion. His eyes were rounded in panic, though bloodshot. Ghoulish was the word that came to Rick’s mind.

“You sure about that?” Rick asked. “You don’t look so good.”

A soft knock at the door. Rick kept one eye on the man as he opened it and Michonne appeared. She took one look at the man, and lifted her katana. Rick touched her arm softly, and she relaxed her stance, but only slightly.

“I ain’t bit,” the man croaked.

“Doesn’t look like it will matter much longer.” Michonne glanced at Rick, then back to the man.

Rick holstered his gun and kicked the man’s knife out of arm’s reach, though the danger seemed less and less with the pitiful creature before them. Even breathing was a struggle, with each gasp sounding like the final breath. Rick held his breath and patted the man down gently, avoiding the bandaged and soiled areas.

“He’s clean,” he said to Michonne. She sheathed her katana, then rummaged in her sack for some water. The man quivered and moaned as she uncapped the bottle. He lifted an arm towards her; it had no fat or muscle, just a bone. Bones reaching out. Rick suppressed a shudder.

“I don’t think I can hold it,” the man finally said. His voice trembled.

Michonne glared at him for a moment, still wary. But she brought it to his lips and tipped the bottle, and he slurped and gulped for a moment before she pulled it away.

“Don’t wanna make you sick. I’ll give you more in a minute.”

The man nodded and shifted slightly, wincing in pain. Michonne wandered towards the front of the store then reappeared with a few lanterns and a handful of batteries. As she fiddled with it, Rick knelt down near the man.

“My name’s Rick. What’s yours?”

“Ed. Ed… Salisbury, like the steak.”

Michonne dropped a battery and scoffed. “Shit, salisbury ain’t a steak. It’s ground meat.”

Ed chuckled weakly. “Exactly, miss. Got myself… in a spot of trouble, you see. Thought this place was… was as good as any for dying.”

Rick looked around. “How’d you even find this place? It’s not on any map or directories. We only came across a mention of it in a fluke, hidden in a church newsletter.”

“Well the name is… hard to forget,” Ed said, before breaking into a wracking cough. Somewhere in the distance, a walker snarled.

The smell was getting intolerable. How the hell were they going to transport him? Could they even save him? He could barely move, let alone stand up.

“Sure would be… nice not to… die alone,” Ed said with a small smile. Rick uncapped the water and gave him some more. Water dribbled down the mans chin, but he made no motion to wipe it away. His lips were cracked and dried with flecks of blood.

The water seemed to restore him a little, or perhaps it was the company, or both. The dullness in his eyes grew a little sharper.

“You aren’t going to die. Not yet, at least.” Michonne made a triumphant sound and the lantern flicked on.

The light made Ed even more ghostly, casting unnatural shadows across his face and hollow eyes. He wore a white shirt caked with mud, his belly distended unnaturally underneath. Black and yellow-stained bandages wrapped around his right arm and leg. One pant leg was ripped at the knee, and for good reason. His kneecap was hardly visible, the joint was so swollen and purple, it hurt just to look at it. One of his fingers pointed in an odd direction: broken. Water bottles littered the ground around him, some empty, some dark yellow.

Ed smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that. Couldn’t move much… but found a pack of water nearby. Drank the last one… a few days ago maybe. Good timing.”

Rick spied a dented first-aid kit underneath the cash register. The label looked old, the contents likely long past the expiration date even before the Collapse. He reached for it and cracked it open, pulled out gloves and bandages. Damn- the antiseptic was dried up. Michonne took one of the lanterns and found another kit on the shelves along with face masks, and tossed it to Rick. He pulled it on gratefully, the smell slightly less noxious behind the cotton fibers. 

“What happened to you?” Rick asked, his voice muffled under the face mask. He slipped on the gloves and prepared the bandages. First-aid training to the rescue, once again.

Ed winced as his filthy bandages were gently pulled off. Pus and blood wept from his wounds, but they were clean cuts from a blade, not ragged from a bite. At least Ed was honest so far. Ragged black thread showed a haphazard attempt at stitches, which seemed to almost work to seal up the wound. 

“Heh. What didn’t happen is a better question. Was with a little group, nice little settlement we had up near the mountains. Oof, that’s tender…no, you keep going. Ah, not many ghouls wandering around in the remote areas… they seem more docile up there, not sure why.” He coughed and turned away to spit up a glob of bloody phlegm. “’Scuse me. We got attacked. Group of pagan nutjobs that call themselves the Shadow Coven.”

Michonne snorted loudly. A walker growled in the distance, so she unsheathed the katana and went towards the front door, peering outside.

“One, but it’s pretty far away.” She eyed Ed, then dug around in her bag. She found a precious energy bar still in the wrapper, and set it on the counter by Rick.

Rick nodded. “Go around back too and check, just in case.” Michonne nodded and left the doorway.

“That your girl?” Ed asked.

Rick looked at him for a moment before replying. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

Ed smiled crookedly. “Good. It’s good to have someone.” He looked around a little, embarrassed as if they’d dropped by for a visit unexpectedly to find him in a bathrobe. “Sorry about the mess. Don’t know how long I’ve been here. Time sort of drifts together, in the end. Almost contemplated drinkin’ piss. Imagine that.” He chuckled softly, but Rick could almost taste the bitterness. “Can I get some more of that water before you move on to the next one? Awful parched.”

Rick complied. Ed held the bottle this time, still trembling so Rick helped steady his hand. He unwrapped the bar Michonne left, and broke off two pieces. One he popped in his mouth to suppress his own creeping hunger, and Ed took the other piece gratefully.

Rick moved onto the next wound after Ed drained the water bottle and ate a few more bites. He seemed more lucid now, his breath not quite so ragged.

Rick rummaged in Michonne’s sack and pulled out a small strip of jerky wrapped in parchment paper, he ripped it into small, bite-sized pieces and placed them in Ed’s hand.

“Now, you’ve already gotten some food so take this slowly. Make sure to really chew each piece well- this is all you get for now. Now, you still haven’t answered my question: what happened?”

Ed chewed on a piece of jerky thoughtfully, rolling the piece around in his mouth and closing his eyes to relish the taste. “Ahh. Venison. A good meat – high in protein. Oof – don’t worry. Keep filling me with jerky and you can abuse me as much as you need to.” Rick gave him a small smile before cleaning the next wound.

The sunlight dimmed for a moment- movement from outside. Rick leaned around the counter. It was only Michonne, wiping the blade of her katana on a filthy rag.

“That your truck back there?” she asked.

Ed nodded, then burst into wheezing coughs. His face was pale, droplets of perspiration sprinkled across his receding hairline.

“It runs, but it’s low on gas. May get us five, ten more miles maybe. Thought I’d rest here for a bit before looking for more. Didn’t realize how bad my injuries were at the time. Adrenaline, you know?”

Michonne nodded, her eyes dark and far-away. “I know.” They stood in silence for a few minutes while Rick finished the last bandage. Michonne shifted on her feet impatiently. Rick knew she wouldn’t want to leave this man if there was a chance to save him, but this place was making her nervous.

Finally , she spoke. “There’s a few beat-up cars in a gravel lot by the shooting range, I’ll go look around, see if I can get a tube and a canister. I think there were some in the back. Hopefully the gas is still good.” Then, she was gone.

Ed took another bite and chuckled. “I bet you’re awful lucky to have her around.”

Rick smiled and looked back at the empty doorway. “I sure am.” He continued working on Ed, brow furrowed deeply in worry. His hands were steady, but his fingers felt clumsy now. How far away was this Shadow Coven from Alexandria? They were barely hanging on as it was under Negan’s tyrannical thumb.

Then…an idea. Something sparked in him, a little niggling of a plan.

Rick offered Ed some more water, but he shook his head. “Well, before I die, I suppose I’d best tell you what happened. This group rolled in one day – well, they really just sort of… _appeared._ From the trees. We just had a little camp for the seven of us, with tents and what-not, minimal defenses to keep out walkers and bears. Really odd folks. Said their leader sent them, but we never met ‘em. Took about half of our stuff, despite our protests. Killed one of our own, then we agreed. Funny how that works- like killing one of us’ll make everything work out. Thought they’d move on after they robbed us, though they called it an offering. Bullshit, I say, it’s robbery.

He took another small piece of jerky and chewed it for awhile, swallowing down some water as well to wash it down. “But fat chance, they’d wander back from time to time. They’d leave weird shit around to spook us. Dead rotting animals, sticks with feathers, rocks in patterns. We would’ve taken care of ‘em but we had hardly any ammo left. Already coming off a bad winter, we were all pretty weak.”

Rick was watching Ed intensely, his heart felt like it was seizing in his chest. “They took half of your stuff?”

“Yep. Started maybe a year or so back. Made the next winter harder than it needed to be. A few died from starvation.”

“Did they call themselves the Saviors? Offer protection from walkers and other people in exchange for your supplies?”

Ed furrowed his brow. “What’s that? No, don’t know anything about saviors. No protection offered either, except from themselves.” He inspected his clean bandages and nodded approvingly. “These were odd folks. Wild, like they was raised in that forest… by wolves or somethin’. No guns either, just spears and knives. Some were up in the trees with bows. I’d say with humility in my heart that I’ve a good eye from huntin’ all my life. I can track a deer for miles, but I never saw or heard this group approach. Like ghosts.” He snorted, a bitter smile creeping on his lips. “Magda- she was in my group. Sweet as pie. Called them ‘spirits of the forest.’ I don’t know about all that. The leader called themselves the Witch, I assume a woman but like I said, we never met ‘em. Called themselves the Shadow Coven, like I said. Pagan hooligans, more like.”

A sinking feeling tugged deep within Rick. _Great, another one._ One more group to ride through settlements, intimidating people who were just trying to survive. 

Rick glanced at Ed, who was watching him curiously. His knee still looked awful, though there wasn’t a wound. “Looks like you tore something in your knee. You left in a hurry?”

Ed smiled weakly. “You bet. We’d been hiding food in little caches around the forest. We were real smart about it, at least I thought so. We’d work out some random patterns so it would be difficult for them to follow us, going in opposite directions. Never talked about it outside of whispered plans in case they could hear. But they found ‘em. Caught one of ours in the act, just a young man-”

Michonne burst through the door. “We gotta go.”  
“Why?” Rick jumped up, hand on his holster. “We haven’t even grabbed supplies yet.”

Ed sat up shakily, then slumped back down. “Leave me here.”

“After all the work I put into cleaning your bandages? No way.”

Michonne stepped forward. “We don’t have time. Herd’s coming, a decent-sized one. Must’ve heard the door bust or something, maybe they were already headed this way. I was able to siphon some gas. Should have enough to make it to our car. When we get there, I’ll follow you to Alexandria in case the truck runs out before we get home.” She sized up Ed with her eyes, calculating his weight, the extent of his injuries. “I’ll bring the truck around.”

“Michonne, there’s too much here we need.”

Michonne looked around. “This place has been untouched for years. We can barricade the door and come back! There’s another shed and some storage garage we haven’t even looked at yet.”

Rick made to protest, but Michonne held up her hand. “Rick, we’ll come back. I promise.”

Rick rubbed his chin. Negan had confiscated all of their weapons, but he had managed to hide away his handgun out of the Savior’s grasp, giving them a nearly identical decoy with a broken spring he’d been meaning to repair. All of these weapons would need to be carefully hidden, they couldn’t just roll back home with a truck full of shotguns.

Finally, he sighed. “Alright, but we should grab some of this equipment, anything that we don’t really need. Some of those dehydrated meals, too. We’ll be able to keep some of those. It’ll keep Negan off our back.”

Michonne looked around. “We’d better bust them up a little, if they look too nice they’ll get suspicious.”

“Agree.”

They worked at break-neck speed. Rick piled up some supplies out front as quickly as he could, and Michonne threw them in the back of the truck. Distant snarls grew closer, and a pungent smell of rot grew stronger. With much effort, they got Ed in the truck between the two of them, despite his protests, propping him up against the cab in the bed of the truck. He couldn’t bend his leg, so the passenger seat was out.

Michonne peered around the back of the building. “They’re coming.”

“We gotta barricade the door. They’ll make a mess in here.”

They grabbed whatever they could quickly: chairs, lumber, a plastic patio set. Rick even found a rusted bike behind the shed and they threw that in front. It was a shoddy barricade, but it would have to do. As long as nothing made noises inside, the walkers wouldn’t bother it.

Rick jumped into the driver’s seat just as a group of walkers trailed out from the trees behind the building. It was a decent sized herd, growing more and more as they emerged from the forest. He turned the engine and it sputtered.

“Come on, come ON!” He swore, then slapped the steering wheel. Again he tried, and again it sputtered pitifully. Third time was the charm, and the engine roared to life. Rick pulled the truck out, making towards the field they’d entered from.

“NO!” Michonne shouted. “Go around the side!”

Rick yanked it into reverse. “Why the hell not?”

“Someone will see the tire marks from the road, then come back here! We have to go around the long way!”

Michonne was right. Rick chastised himself that he almost ruined their hidden treasure cove. _Idiot, idiot, idiot._ He followed Michonne’s directions as they sped past the herd, circling around to enter the road from further away.

When they were a safe distance away, Michonne began to laugh. She laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her face. Rick looked at her with concern, but it just made here laugh more.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, squeezing her leg gently.

“Nothing!” she said in between gasps for breaths. “Nothing is wrong, that’s why I’m laughing!”

“I don’t understand.”

“Rick,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “If we can keep that place secure, there’s enough firepower in there to blow Negan’s balls to kingdom come!”

Rick glanced in the rearview mirror. Ed still was sitting up, looking out the side of the truck serenely at the passing scenery.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re going to need all of it.”

/ / / /

**AN: I hope all of you are doing well and staying safe. Sending all of you love and squishy hugs over the internet <3**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The crisp autumn morning brought a thin mist that clung to Littlechapel and refused to let go. The weather was turning, it was official now. Gone were the easy days of spring and summer, where the children could wear themselves out in the gardens or down at the freshwater creek where they collected water, caught fat bullfrogs, or lay on the warm rocks in the sun like little lizards. There still were the autumn harvests, but now the kids ramped up trapping and hunting to make smoked meats and the dreaded pemmican (useful and life-saving, but not very tasty) to last them through the bitter winter.

The storage room was full, thankfully. Cans from before the Collapse lined one shelf and their own homemade cans lined several others. Though Lucy wasn’t the only one in there tallying inventory, she felt more alone than ever. It was time to start setting aside supplies for the next tribute. It was a delicate balance to give the Coven as little as possible without arousing suspicion or anger. She set aside some pre-Collapse cans with no labels, those were the worst to deal with, anyways. Was there a bounty of green beans or sweet corn inside? Or just olives or water chestnuts that hardly anyone wanted? Let the Coven sort it out, and all for the better.

She loved the kids, each one of them, with a fierceness that almost frightened her. But this many children alone…she missed other adults. Other sane adults, to be specific. The adults in the Coven were eerie, with their painted faces and shifting eyes. All they had were demands or threats anyways. Lucy had no peers here, and before the strangers had briefly visited, she couldn’t recall the last time she spoke with another adult. Though some of the kids were getting older now, a few of the boys even sprouting a head taller than her, they still had the tempestuousness of raging hormones, and that lost feeling between childhood and adulthood. Disillusionment tangled with grandeur. Lucy just wanted to talk to someone, vent, release all this pent up anxiety she hid from the children.

Lucy sighed and set aside some canned asparagus. Sometimes she could get away with pawning the less desirable items off, but usually needed to balance it with useful items as well.

“What about canned meat?” Abby’s voice called over from the next shelving aisle.

“What’s the canning date?” Lucy called back, snapping out of her thoughts.

“The earliest ones we tried, of course! Chicken. A few venison. Lord knows if these are a hotbed of botulism. Maybe they’ll all get sick and drop dead.”

Lucy chuckled. “We can only hope. Yeah, send the early ones we tried- they were terrible anyways. If any have puffed out lids, we should throw those out, though.”

They filled a few more boxes before Lucy left Abby to supervise the few others.

She went outside, zipping up her jacket to brace against the chill, piney air. Conspiratorial voices caused her to halt just as she was about to turn the corner to go back to the main house.

“I dunno Billy, it’s risky. I don’t Mom would approve.”

 _Mom._ Some of the smaller kids had started calling her that. She let them call her whatever they chose. Some still called her Miss Lucy, others the Warden as a joke that stuck.

“Gotta do somethin’. We can’t keep giving offerings for them not to kill us. Someday, they’ll see us getting more grown up and decide the risk isn’t worth it.”

“I dunno…”

“What ain’t you sure about? They killed that other little settlement down south, and we found two other camps murdered and burnt. Those were all adults.”

Lucy felt a tug of panic. _What?_ None of them had said anything about other settlements nearby, dead or alive. It sounded like Billy, though the other whispers were too hard to distinguish.

“I guess you’re right. We should talk to her about it though.”

“Not yet. Can’t give her a crappy plan, it’s gotta make sense. Otherwise, she’ll think it’s too dangerous. Don’t let on to the littler kids. We’ll all meet later after bedtime.”

“Alright. See ya.”

Footsteps retreated, crunching softly on pine needles. Lucy leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. _God, they’ve starting making plots now._ She knew the day would come when they would want to fight back, but she hoped they had more time. The big kids had always been protective of the younger ones, taking on scavenging and hunting so they all could eat. If anyone would raise a rebellion, it would be Billy. Tough as nails, and quick as a switchblade.

She wiped away a few tears that managed to escape, and took a few deep breaths before turning the corner. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to take a stand.

| / | \ | / | \ |

The sunlight was fading and one of their spare cars, a mid-sized SUV, was packed with offerings. A dozen or so kids gathered around the car chatting excitedly as Axel, Nathan, and Ethan shuffled the contents around. Lucy approached with a few paper bags after finishing dinner arrangements with Cupcake and fetching some day-old bread loaves to offer. Negotiating bread rations with Cupcake was an exercise in patience itself, and Lucy understood. All that effort to put into making the loaves, only to have them go to their overlords.

“It’s no fair that all boys are going this time,” Abby said with a scowl. Little Tully clung to her free hand, her other hand supporting Molly balancing on her hip.

“You look like you got your hands full already,” Axel said, slamming the trunk closed. Abby responded with a scathing glare.

“Chill out, it’s just the rotation system. Sometimes all girls go,” Nathan said. Ethan grunted in agreement.

“He’s right,” Lucy said. “Nothing personal, you know that. It’s always dangerous, no matter who goes. Here,” she handed Axel the bags. He peeked inside, and was unimpressed with the contents. A good sign, she didn’t want to be giving away too much good stuff.

“Oil looks good,” Stark said, gently closing the hood of the car. “Probably another few trips before we gotta change it.”

“Good.” Lucy caught the keys when he tossed them, and opened the driver’s side. 

Axel’s eyes grew wide. “Are you _coming?_ ”

Lucy smiled. “You bet. It’s been awhile, don’t you think?” Nathan and Ethan shrugged, unaffected by the turn of events, and began a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who got to ride shotgun. Lucy turned to the other kids. “Cupcake’s in charge, and Fletch is her back-up while she’s cooking. Now, be kind to one another, be helpful, and don’t be jerks! It’ll be a free-time night, Stark is going to set up a fun…ish… project and we’ll see about getting a movie started tonight.”

A dozen cheers pierced the air. Axel groaned in disappointment, they’d likely miss the movie. Nathan and Ethan were too busy dead-arm punching one another to notice.

Lucy shooed the kids inside. “Go on, now. All of you get inside before it gets cold.”

A dozen heads nodded, then bobbed off into the mist towards the main house, shoving and joking with one another.

Lucy jumped in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The SUV roared to life, and she pulled towards the gate. The kids on guard waved, and one dashed out to open the gate, shutting it behind them.

“Alright, any CDs you guys want to listen to?”

The next five minutes was spent bickering over what music to listen to, and various CDs were tried and determined to be too lame or too boring. Nathan wanted Metal, which Lucy immediately nixed. They finally agreed on a non-controversial compilation of rock songs, and they settled in for the drive. The tribute spot had never changed, and Lucy assumed it was purposefully out of the way for both the Witch and her Shadow Coven, and for the Littlechapel gang. Meeting elsewhere was always better than when the Coven came around collecting, so they made sure to always be on time with as much supplies as they could spare.

The misty fog made it hard to see, and they crept along the winding mountain roads further and further up the mountain. Axel rummaged around for pack of stale, hard gum and passed around the sticks to help with the air pressure. He then collected the foil wrappers, Stark always had a use for the little foil wrappers and usually would barter for them.

Pine trees loomed on either side of the road, watchful sentinels, tall and silent. No one maintained the roads anymore, so they had to stop a handful of times to clear debris that blocked the road. Asphalt crumbled away at the sides of the road, worn by rain, snow and ice. Sometimes she had to serve to avoid a nasty pothole, or a particularly large eroded section of the road lost to the steep ledges.

Axel and the twins were the best companions to have for drop-offs. The twins were unaffected generally by anything, they could either be categorized as generally unemotional in most situations or stoic, accepting things for the way they were with minimal complaint. And Axel? Well, Lucy was sure Axel’s blood had a mixture of vinegar in there. Between him and Billy, there were always at least two kids that could make the hard decisions.

They reached a fork in the road, and Lucy rolled the car to a stop. One curved further up the mountain, the other was a simple dirt road that led up slight hill and cured around a big boulder that partially blocked the road.

“Alright. You guys ready?” Ethan and Nathan grunted in the backseat.

“Who waits here?” Axel asked.

Lucy looked at him, confused. “What do you mean? We’re all going together.”

Axel chewed his lip and glanced at the twins in the backseat. Finally Ethan spoke. “We started leaving someone at the fork, just in case things go wrong.”

“Oh!” Lucy felt her cheeks turn pink. Of course they’d adapted and changed the plan. The kids, delivering supplies by themselves had met with some sticky situations themselves. It was dangerous, but what other options did they have? She couldn’t always accompany them, although she used to do the tributes exclusively in the early days. Embarrassed and shame fought in her belly. She had put these kids at such risk that they modified their own safety plans.

“That’s…good, guys. Good thinking. Gotta be flexible, gotta adapt.”

“Are you okay?” Axel asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Don’t cry, Miss Lucy. It’s okay, we’re tough kids.”

Lucy nodded, wiping away a few rogue tears and forced a smile. “Of course you are. I’m so proud of all of you. I just- I just wish we didn’t have to do this.” She searched for more words, there were so many tumbling around in her head, but they all felt lacking.

“Me too,” said Ethan.

“Me three,” said Nathan.

“I dunno,” said Axel. “Maybe someday we’ll kick their asses and stop this shit.”

“Axel! Language!” But that did the trick: Lucy chuckled a little, the bubbling tension eased for now. “So what does the person waiting do?”

Nathan spoke up this time. “Just wait. Listen for trouble. We hid a few bicycles around here to ride back in case shit- sorry. In case anything goes down. The way back home is all downhill. Easy peasy. I’ll go- Ethan did it last time.”

Lucy nodded. Nathan got out of the car and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He soon disappeared into the mist, a receding shadow. She glanced over at Axel and he nodded solemnly: onward they went, up the dirt road.

They followed the road for a mile or so, until she pulled the car off to the side of the road next to a meadow clearing. Weeds were already taking over the road here, but Lucy wasn’t sure if their car kept them at bay, or whether someone came here to make sure it was driveable. In spring it was beautiful here: wildflowers grew with careless abandon, bees heavy with pollen buzzed lazily from bud to bud. But it was autumn now, the flowers long dead from morning frost. Now it was only fragrant green grass, with the eerie mist clinging low to the ground.

They got out of the car, gravely silent, and unloaded the car. They carried the boxes to the meadow, tramping down the wet grass in three lines. Despite the fog, the air crackled with static. _A storm’s coming, and soon_ , Lucy thought. She just hoped it would hold out until they made it home.

She stayed in the meadow while Axel and Ethan went to get the rest of the supplies. Soon, she was surrounded by boxes.

 _Their_ food. _Their_ equipment. _Their_ supplies.

These were cultivated, scavenged, or created by the children, and now they’d be taken away by some group of weirdos. Creeps. Murderers. Lucy felt her underlying fear now retreating in favor of something else: anger. How dare these assholes take hard-earned and hard-worked supplies from goddamn _children?_ The only ones that would save the human race. She balled her fists and counted slowly back from ten. No use getting them into trouble now, she had to set a good example. Be cool, be quick, get home.

By the time she got to one, dark shadows emerged from the treeline. Lucy waved to Axel and Ethan, and they retreated behind her a bit. The shadows shapes masked by the fog, but they grew more recognizable as they approached.

The Shadow Coven. A dozen or so men and women, spaced apart almost equally across the expansive meadow, although as they approached the spaces closed between them. They looked wild- the woods had claimed them. Some had designs on their faces, painted with a reddish-brown mud, or grey-black soot. Their eyes were hard, their faces harder. A patchwork of clothes adorned some, squares of mismatching fabric crisscrossed haphazardly, while others wore close to nothing. Most were barefoot, but some had old boots or homemade shoes cobbled from old soles and scraps of fabric. Many of the women had long, unkempt hair with feathers and mouse bones weaved in, but a few were shaved bald with a few dark red lines from being cut. None of them said anything – they were spirits of the forests. Ghosts, or shades that apparated from the mist. Lucy held back a shudder.

One man walked slightly in front of the others, holding a torch that sputtered and popped in the misty fog. His face was covered in a simple canvas cloth with two eyeholes cut roughly into the fabric. He was a head taller than most of them, equal in height to the twins who seemed to grow an inch every time Lucy saw them. Muddy handprints were stamped across his chest, still glistening with moisture. Though he was a tall man, he was not particularly large. His chest was hollow and the skin between his ribs were deep, like claw-marks. Though he was rather skinny, all of them were, his muscles were pronounced, sinewy ropes that snaked along his arms and legs. Around his neck was a string of human teeth.

Lucy had never seen him before, but she knew of him instantly. Her heart plunged deep into her belly, but she tried to erase any emotion from her face. Beartooth, the Witch’s right-hand man, possible lover. If the whispers were true, that is.

There were wildly varying tales about him, but they all shared one shred of truth: he was a bear hunter. He wore two yellowing canine teeth woven into thin willow branches as a sort of crude crown, the two teeth hooked up towards the sky on either side of his devilish head. They looked more like devil horns to Lucy, and now she fully understood why the children were so shaken when he would arrive unannounced. He handed the torch off to a rat-faced man on his left that sported a costume made entirely from strips of bark.

The rest of the Coven held back as Beartooth approached Lucy. His eyes were gray, colorless things floating behind the cream canvas.

“Blessings from the trees,” he said in a deep voice, slightly muffled by his mask. His eyes were cold gray, cold as the mist around them.

“Blessings from the earth,” Lucy returned. She took a step towards him, despite her brain screaming at her not to. She wanted to put space between him and the children, although she didn’t doubt that if pushed, Ethan and Nathan together could potentially cause some serious damage.

“You must be the protector of your flock.” Beartooth said, tilting his head slightly. It was not a question, and Lucy didn’t answer. “We do not have dealings with you usually, meatbag.”

Lucy shrugged, ignoring the derogatory term. All outsiders to the Coven were ‘meatbags,’ and it no longer jarred her, or the kids. “We can talk about it if you’d like, or we can get this over and done with. Supplies are here, feel free to inspect them.”

Beartooth laughed. It was a high, brittle thing that didn’t seem to align with his low, haunting voice. He spoke slowly, as if each word was carefully cultivated before being set free. “They said you were straightforward and to the point. I like that.”

Lucy held his gaze, hoping she looked a lot tougher than she felt. Beartooth was much taller than her and those sinewy arms were much stronger than they appeared. “Well, maybe we’d be friends under different circumstances. We got food, clothing, and medical supplies in those boxes there. We’re getting low on most medicine, so I threw in some blankets to make up the difference. Good ones, thick wool for the winter.”

His steely eyes narrowed, but Lucy just stared back. She would not let him think she was intimidated. He said nothing, so she filled the silence. “Medical supplies are only going to get worse. Looters are traveling further up the mountains, and things are getting cleaned out. Meds are expiring, or going bad from lack of refrigeration. That’s just the way it is. Tell me a reasonable substitute, and we’ll do it. But I can’t procure them out of air.”

Beartooth waved a hand, and a bushy-haired Coven man stepped forward, picking through the boxes. He looked wild, like a mountain man of the Wild West, except he wore long cargo pants and an unbuttoned flannel with no shirt underneath. After he inspected the last box, he nodded to Beartooth.

“All here.”

Beartooth nodded. “Then take them.”

Coven members silently stepped forward and gathered the boxes. Axel had his hand hovering near his knife, just in case, but Lucy shook her head slightly. The Coven members stared at her for a moment, but she just stared back, willing her face muscles to stay frozen in neutrality.

Those with boxes turned and walked back from where they came, blurring in the fog before finally disappearing into the forest. The crunch of leaves and dried grass beneath their feet faded. Beartooth and a few others remained.

“One of yours saw us, meatbag.” Beartooth said.

“Of course. They see you every time we do this.”

“No. Outside of the usual exchange,” Beartooth said. The remaining Coven members took small, tentative steps forward.

Lucy crossed her arms and glared at the others slowly forming a half-circle around her. Axel coughed uncomfortably. “Well,” she said. “If you’re going to sneak around my territory, of course the kids are going to see you. I’ve told your people my kids patrol the area around our home. If you don’t want to be seen, then keep away. That’s on you.”

Beartooth’s eyes crinkled, presumably in a smile. Lucy was glad she couldn’t see his lips, likely twisted in some cruel sort of smirk. “We go where we like.”

“Certainly. You all can camp out right by our gates, if you’re so inclined. But don’t get bent out of shape if you’re seen. That’s only logical.”

“The Witch would like this girl. The one who saw her.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. _Kira._ She recalled how frightened the little girl was, shaking like a leaf and inconsolable. Anger flared in her belly – hadn’t they taken enough from them so far? 

“No,” she said. “Why?”

“It’s not a request, meatbag. This girl is ours now. She saw a sacred rite, not for outside _meat._ The girl is no longer yours, but ours now.”

“And my answer isn’t changing. The kids stay with me, that was part of the arrangement. Nothing about seeing sacred rites being done right outside our gate. If you’re going to just make up rules to snatch up my kids, then we need to reevaluate our situation.”

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit._ Sometimes a thing needed to be said, but it was still terrifying to say.

“The arrangement has changed, then. Should I pluck out her eyes, instead?” Beartooth’s eyes were cold as ice. The others shuffled, making soft squelching noises in the muddy terrain. Lucy looked back. Axel was holding Ethan’s hand, wide-eyed. Ethan looked bored, as usual, but Lucy saw his fist clenching. She shook her head at him almost imperceptibly, and his fist relaxed. Slightly.

Lucy looked back at the Coven. “Here are your supplies. Whatever she saw, she didn’t understand it and is no threat to you. I’m not discussing this further. You’ve given me no good reason to hand over a child to strangers.”

“Meatbag, you aren’t thinking clearly. Think of the others. They’ll suffer if you refuse us.”

Lucy stepped closer to him, so close they were almost face-to-face. The cloth over Beartooth’s face was heavy canvas, and made him look faceless. But there was a face underneath that canvas, and it could bleed. She could break his nose, just like anyone else. They stared at each other, sizing up, measuring. The other Coven members reached for their knifes, some pointed spears at her. She could smell sweat and mud, and something flickered behind those cold eyes. Was it fear? Anger?

Finally she spoke, leaning in so close she could have kissed him. Or bit him. “You touch any of _my_ kids, and you’ll be the ones suffering,” she said in a low tone. “You tell the Witch I refuse her demand. She won’t have her, or any of them. You want more food? Have it. Take the rest of our medicine? Fine. But you will not have any of the children.

“In the end, you’re all a bunch of adults taking from _children_ who work twice as long, twice as hard as you, and are far better people in the end. You think you’ll make us suffer? You’re the ones who can’t feed yourselves. You talk a big game, but I see the hollow cheeks and hungry eyes your people have. Maybe you can wreck havoc on our defenses. Maybe you can try to hunt us in the night like the bears you stalk. But maybe _you’ll_ be the ones that suffer, come winter. When your babies, or whatever the fuck you animals give birth to, are starving in your arms, too tired to cry for milk, lips blue from the cold, you’ll remember my words. When they gasp their final dying breaths from your arrogance and stupidity, then maybe you’ll remember how bad you well and truly fucked yourselves over. Consider this our last tribute, you parasitic, pathetic _assholes_.”

With that, she took a step back and spat on the ground next to his feet.

“Come on,” she said, yanking Axel and a dumbfounded Ethan towards the car. She threw Axel in the passenger side and slammed the doors, ignoring whatever Beartooth was shouting at her, and burnt rubber filled the car as she peeled out, charging out of the tribute place.

When they were a good distance away, Lucy let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“That was way cool,” Ethan said, bouncing in his seat. “He was pissed as hell. His eyes looked like he was going to kill you, but you slayed him pretty fucking good, Luce.”

So was Lucy. She didn’t even bother scolding him for language as she slammed the breaks on near Nathan’s spot. His head poked out from behind a rock at the sound of the engine, then he lumbered towards the car, shoving into the backseat next to his brother. Nathan looked at the tense, worried faces and Ethan only shrugged before jolting backwards from Lucy slamming on the gas.

“Did you hear what he was yelling?” Ethan asked. “I couldn’t hear.”

Lucy said nothing, trying to slow her breathing and ease up the grip on the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white and beginning to ache already, but she had to hold on tight to keep her hands from trembling.

Axel was staring out the window, but his eyes were unfocused, unseeing. His voice was distant, far-away.

“He said we’re all going to die.”

/ / / / /

**AN: Thank you all for the lovely reviews/comments, kudos, likes, favorites, follows, etc.! I hope you all are enjoying, and thank you all for sticking along with this journey. I hope you all are staying well and safe. <3<3**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

“What did that chicken do to wrong you?”

Rick snapped out of his thoughts, dark and troubling. “Huh?”

It was dinnertime at the Grimes household, and a rare occasion where everyone was at the table together. Even Judith was sitting in her high chair, eating little bites of cut-up chicken and roasted potatoes. Low music hummed from a boombox in the living room, providing a pleasant, almost normal background. Michonne was watching Rick from across the table, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“I said, what did that chicken do to wrong you? You’ve been stabbing at that thing for minutes and not eating.”

Rick smiled half-heartedly and took a big bite of chicken. Judith watched him intently and mimicked the bite, shoving a piece of chicken in her mouth too.

“Ah, nothing,” he said. “Just thinking about that newcomer, Ed. ‘Bout what happened to his group.”

Carl’s ears perked up. He swallowed hard and took a deep gulp of water. “What happened to his group? He looked bad when you guys came back.”

Rick met Michonne’s eyes, and they had a silent debate over what to tell the teenage boy. Carl looked between the two of them, rolled his eyes and made a face at Judith.

“Doesn’t matter,” he told his little sister. “I’ll find out anyway.” She smiled shyly in response and shoved another big bite in her mouth.

Rick sighed, and finally repeated the man’s story of the slaughter in the woods, flicking his eyes over occasionally to Judith, who was more interested in smushing potatoes on her tray then listening. Carl’s eyes grew wider and wider as his father spoke in between mouthfuls of dinner. When it was over, Carl whistled a low tune and scratched at his eyepatch. It had been itching him like crazy as of late. It was healing, Rick told him, but still forced himself to look at the mangled socket every evening to make sure there were no signs of a late infection.

“Dang. That’s messed up,” Carl said. “And that’s a group up in the mountains? How far away is that from here?”

Michonne and Rick exchanged glances.

“Jeez, I’m not planning on anything! Just curious, that’s all.”

Michonne stood up and began to clear plates. “Few hour’s drive to get to where the mountains begin. We’re not sure where they were at, but further up. At least half a day’s drive.”

Rick handed her his plate and smiled in appreciation. He turned to Judith and began wiping her face down, though she wriggled and pushed his hands away with her tiny little fingers.

“Hang on honey, you got potato in your hair.” He picked her up and sat her down in the living room, then shooed Michonne from the sink so he could work on the mountain of dishes in the sink. “We gotta go back that way, secure that shop where we found him. Plenty of supplies there, and it’s well hidden from view.”

Michonne stole a sip of his beer, looking thoughtfully at Rick as he rolled up his sleeves. “Not on any map or directory, either. With the fruit trees, blackberry bushes, and the trees nearby, it wouldn’t be a bad little reprieve. Someday.” She pulled a face and looked down at the bottle. “Maybe we can make some blackberry beer, better than this flat shit. Someday.”

“Someday,” Rick echoed, his brow furrowing. Their lives were full of a lot of somedays.

From the living room, Judith squealed as she slammed wooden toys together with a clatter. Carl brought in the last of the dishes, and sat up on the counter in between Michonne and Rick. “An outpost, maybe?”

Rick shook his head. “No. If Negan found out, he’d send his men in to kill anyone at the outpost. Or us.”  
“Or both,” Michonne said, her eyes darkening.

Carl looked at both of them and shook his head. “He doesn’t keep tabs on how many people we have. He cares more about the supplies themselves. How’s he supposed to know if we send people away?” Judith squealed again, and they all glanced over with smiles pulling at their lips.

Carl continued. “There’s only certain people he cares about anyways. He’d notice if Dad was gone too much, or me. But the others, he just ignores for the most part. We could say they are off scavenging, or went their own way. Happens all the time.”

Rick set down the pot he was in the middle of washing, and stared off into nothing. Something was clicking, an idea just forming. He looked at Michonne, strong and beautiful. And deadly. Carl, his only son, almost getting to be a better shot than Rick himself. _Family. You’ve got to protect them,_ he thought.

Later that evening, he and Michonne were in bed, panting after a particularly brief, but very enjoyable, lovemaking. She pecked his cheek and giggled. “I’ll go check on Judith. I thought I heard her fussing a few minutes ago, but we were…otherwise occupied.”

She pulled the sheet up over her naked body, leaning over the bed to rummage in the tangle of clothes for a shirt. Rick watched her with a calm sort of peace that rarely caught him. When she padded back in from Judith’s room, braids pulled back in a loose ponytail, she flopped into bed beside him.

He leaned back so she could lay on his chest. “Been thinkin’.”

“Uh oh.”

“I think Carl is onto something.”

“About what?”

“Maybe getting an outpost secured.”

Michonne jolted her head up to look him in the eyes. “Are you crazy? We are on thin ice, practically non-existent, with Negan. He just gutted Spencer a few weeks ago!”

Rick sighed, and idly rubbed her arm, deep in thought. She laid her head back down, but Rick could practically hear the gears turning in her head.

“He won’t notice a few people missing. Hell, we could set up a few outposts to flee to, just in case.”

Michonne made a low hum, a non-committal thinking noise. “We couldn’t communicate with them. Too risky. No walkie-talkies, no running back and forth with messages. We could maybe swing by on scavenging runs.”

“We’d need self-sufficient people. Calm, level-headed.”

Michonne murmured in agreement. “I miss Daryl.”

“Me too. We’ll get him back.”

They settled into a silence, both of them deep in their own thoughts.

“You think there’s others out there in the mountains, being harassed by that group?” Michonne asked.

“Probably. Negan keeps a group of settlements to sustain his people, maybe they do the same. Though they seem to have more of a scorched earth policy, it seems.”

“Mmm.”

“Wouldn’t hurt, would it? Go check out the area. Once Ed heals up, he could give us a better idea on a map. We’d go supply up from the gun range, clear out any stray walkers. Use that as kind of a rest stop. It’s… maybe halfway to that town at the base of the mountain.”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

Rick’s plan began to formulate in his head. Michonne’s breathing grew steady, her muscles limp and relaxed.

 _It just might work_ , he thought, drifting into a deep sleep himself.

/ / / / /

“I’m so sorry baby,” Amber purred into Negan’s ear. She sat curled on his lap, stroking his beard. Negan wanted to shove her off of him, her breath reeked of whiskey and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Instead, he sat on a chair in Amber’s bedroom, glowering at her perfume-lined vanity.

“You’re not happy, Amber honey.” Negan stood up. Amber tumbled to the side of the bed with a yelp. She twisted around, trying to right herself, before looking up at him sideways.

“No, I ain’t.” She finally said. “I mean, I’m happy with you, baby. I ain’t not happy.”

Negan touched the delicate glass perfume bottles, each ornate and unique. And expensive, in another lifetime. “You wouldn’t be fuckin’ lying to me, would ya, honey?”

He caught her eye in the vanity mirror. A frightened doe in the headlights. _Busted._

“Y-yes,” she finally stammered. “I guess I have the blues. Nothin’ a little time wouldn’t fix. I’ll get it right, I promise.”

“You’ve made me a lot of fuckin’ promises.”

“I know. I mean to keep ‘em. I just get…mixed up. Muddled inside, all twisted up like a ball of yarn.”

He picked up a blood-red bottle shaped like a teardrop. _Electric Passion,_ declared the etching on the bottle. Negan took a little sniff, and didn’t recognize the scent. “You wear all these goddamn perfumes?”

Amber shifted on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. “I like the bottles. They’re so pretty – I never had anything nice like those bottles. I had a good bottle of perfume once. Dior, from my mama for Christmas when I turned twenty-one. My boyfriend at the time got real mad one night and smashed it. Jerk.”

Negan turned the bottle over in his hands. It smelled citrusy, with a musk of something floral, exotic underneath. “Why’d he smash it, I wonder?”

Amber didn’t say anything. Muffled voices from the wives’ quarters lifted in the air as someone turned on faint music. Bottles clinked and rattled, and a high, girlish laugh lilted in the air. Sherry, his first wife, no doubt trying to make a big scene of good times out there since she sensed his bad mood.

Negan set the bottle down and turned back to face Amber. She looked at him with big doe eyes. Frightened.

“Why the fuck did he smash your only good bottle of perfume? Sounds like an asshole, to me.”

Amber shrugged, and picked at a loose thread on the bedspread.

Quick as a flash, Negan was next to her, his face so close to hers he could count her long eyelashes, if he wanted. She flinched away slightly with a low gasp, but froze as soon as she caught herself. Amber looked down and bit her lip. “I slept with his best friend. It was bad, I shouldn’t have done it.”

Negan stared at her, jaw clenched. “I’m sensing a fuckin’ pattern here.”

Amber hung her head. “I’m…sorry! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have broke the rules-“

Negan placed a strong hand on her thigh, and her mouth clamped shut. “This isn’t the first fuckin’ time, Amber. If you aren’t happy as a goddamn clam, I don’t want you to be here. Go be with that fuckin’ asshole Mark, if you want him so goddamn much. But what can’t you fuckin’ do?”

“Cheat on you,” Amber whispered.

“Say it loud and fuckin’ proud.”

“Cheat on you,” she said, a fraction louder.

Negan sighed, and wiped away a fat tear rolling down her face. She looked at him, lip trembling. “I…love you,” she said finally.

“Do you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Would you rather be with Mark?”

“No. Never.”

“Then why’d you fuck him in a storage closet for the second- no wait, _third_ goddamn time?”

Amber shrugged and looked down. “I…still love him too, a little. But I don’t wanna _be_ with him. I’d rather be with you.”

“Would you really, honey?”

Amber wiped away a few stray tears and nodded emphatically. “Yes, I would! I promise.”

“Then fuckin’ convince me.” Negan was still too close, her eyes darting around the room anywhere but at him. She gave him a soft kiss, then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She shifted from tentative to desperate in a matter of seconds, pulling and pushing at him urgently as she kissed him deeper. His jacket was removed and tossed into a heap on the floor.

He half-heartedly kissed her back, not caught up so much in the moment, but feeling out her emotions, her behavior. If there was one thing Negan excelled at, it was reading people. Sometimes he knew what someone was going to do long before they did. It was a blessing in most ways, but a curse in others.

He felt wetness on his cheek, and pushed Amber away to study her face. It was streaked with tears. Negan sighed and stood up. Amber wiped away the tears quickly, and feigned a seductive smile as she began to unzip her dress. Negan snatched up his jacket from the floor and tugged it on. He just…couldn’t. He felt the walls building between him and his wives, once eager and keen to bed the handsome leader of the Saviors. But as he implemented and enforced the rules, trying to maintain order and keep the peace, they pulled away. Now they looked at him with those same damn eyes Amber had on: fear and uncertainty. Sometimes a flicker of loathing.

 _Are you that type of man?_ A voice asked, somewhere deep inside him. Lucille’s voice.

“Pack your shit. You can stay here as a regular and work for points, or you and Mark can fuck off. Take your fuckin’ mother with you.” He slammed the door behind him as a sob punctured the air. In the wives’ living room, a dozen pair of eyes watched him, then immediately dropped into a kneel. Negan stormed past them, his other wives, their Savior guards, and turned into the hallway towards the stairwell.

 _FUCK._ He needed to hurt something, real bad, he thought as he stomped up the stairs. A walker wouldn’t be quite as satisfactory, he was beyond that now. He wasn’t a fucking monster, at least he didn’t _think_ he was. Was he?

He pushed open the roof door, fresh air and bright light flooding him for a moment. Here, he could see out over Sanctuary, thirteen stories up. The air was crisp and cool, and a hint of pine floated through the asphalt and steel ladened air.

A scuffle of feet on gravel caused him to turn- only to see the man of the fucking hour.

“Mark,” Negan said in a low voice. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do. A flash of white-rage rolled in his stomach, fierce crashing waves that refused to subside.

Mark turned from ledge he was leaning on and flicked ash from his cigarette. As soon as he recognized Negan, he dropped into a kneel.

“Sir,” he said in a shaky voice. His cigarette fell from his hand and extinguished on the gravel with a puff of smoke.

“As you were.”

Mark nodded and stood up, glancing around uncomfortably for others. “Can I do anything for you, sir?”

Negan wished he hadn’t left Lucille in his room. Mark’s brains would look good on her, his blood dripping off her barbs. “You sure can, chief.”

He didn’t think, he just did. Negan strode over to Mark and threw his arm around his shoulder. Mark flinched, _like Amber,_ but didn’t pull away.

“When you look out there, what do you see?” Negan waved his free hand over Sanctuary grandly. Mark shifted on his feet and cleared his throat nervously.

“Listen, sir. I don’t know what you heard-“

Negan tightened his arm. “Tell me what the fuck you see.”

Mark looked out over the rooftop with wild, nervous eyes. Negan had a flash of a memory, shortly after the collapse. A horse fleeing from a herd, galloping frantically. That horse’s eyes – Mark’s eyes.

“Ah, Sanctuary. I see our people. Trees, beyond the roads.”

“That it?”

“Sir?”

“That’s where we differ. I see…opportunity. Resources. Fuckin’ people getting on with their lives, buzzing around like little goddamn worker bees to secure the hive. Safety and security in the hive.”

“Ah, yes. I see that too, sir. Our people work hard, and-“

Negan didn’t care to actually hear the asshole’s thoughts. “But there’s a delicate fuckin’ balance to that. There’s rules in the hive, everyone has their role. When things get…disrupted…the hive collapses. The queen bee dies, all those little baby bees die, and there isn’t any more fuckin’ safety or security for the rest of those fuckin’ bees.”

Mark squinted his eyes, trying to follow along.

“You know what I do with worker bees that disturb the fuckin’ hive?”

After a second, Mark grew rigid. His shoulder muscles tensed to granite-hard, and he tried to take a step backwards. Negan tightened his grip and pulled him close, almost as a confidante. Too close for comfort, for either one of them.

“I squash them,” he whispered in Mark’s ear. Then, he spun the bastard around and shoved him, hard.

Mark’s eyes grew white for a moment as he reached desperately towards Negan. The, he was head-over-tail tumbling over the ledge of the roof. He made an animalistic noise, a low cry of shock.

Negan leaned over the edge, almost lazily, to watch Mark tumble thirteen stories down, ricocheting off metal railings on the way down with a sickening crack each time. His arms spun wildly, trying to grasp onto anything, but found nothing.

When Mark slammed into the concrete below, a few cries of alarm raised and Sanctuary residents rushed towards the body. A pool of blood quickly formed underneath Mark’s body, dark as oil. His arms and legs sticking out at odd, unnatural angles. A few residents looked up to see Negan, then quickly went back to their duties.

Negan was disappointed. He’d expected more of an… _explosive_ landing, and yet Mark still look fairly intact, if not a little mangled. To his dismay, he felt no relief of any kind, no sense of justice. Only disgust, and he felt a little sorry for whoever had to clean up the body. Hopefully there was enough damage to the head that he wouldn’t come back, but one of the Saviors would take care of that. It wasn’t like Walker Mark would get far with shattered bones. He realized with a pang that he hoped there weren’t any of the kids outside watching.

Negan looked out over Sanctuary and thought of that little mountain community of children. How did the pretty woman manage to keep them in line? In the beginning, Negan fought tooth and nail to keep the group from descending into a “Lord of the Flies” level of chaos. They lost so much to get to where they were.

But Mark, that was a loss that only Amber would mourn. 

Negan sighed, and turned back towards the stairs as shouts and screams grew louder below. Maybe Dwight had tracked down that little community, or at least the general whereabouts. Negan was itching to pay them a visit.

/ / / /

**AN: I hope all of you are staying safe and well. Apologies for the lack of updates, but these will be a little sparse until I can get caught up, things are hectic with me as I’m sure it is for many of you. With the ongoing pandemic and some major personal things going on, I found I didn’t have much time or creative energy to put into writing, but I’m getting back into the swing of things and working through all this so we can continue on our adventure together. Please remember to take care of yourselves, wherever you are, and I appreciate each and every one of you.**

**Take care lovelies, and until the next chapter, much xoxo for all of you, from an appropriate and safe distance** **😊**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The trees were full of eyes, full of whispers. Willow counted the dead-eyed rabbits: one, two, three, four, five. Five to add to a decent stew, and one fat pheasant she’d happened upon when resetting her traps. The Coven would be ambivalent, it was Willow’s duty to help feed them, but at least they wouldn’t be angry. At least, not at her.

She gathered the carcasses in her satchel, picked up her heavy walking stick, and began the trek back home. She stopped along to way to investigate mushrooms and berry bushes. The mushrooms she wasn’t sure about – they were abandoned. Mushrooms were dangerous, and not worth the risk. The bushes still held some fat berries, those she snatched up first, trying to avoid the brambles but not very successfully.

A full satchel, a full belly. It would be a good day, she could feel it in her bones. She even sang a little, no longer quiet Willow, ashamed Willow, out here on her own. She stopped to wash her hands and scratched wrists in the frigid creek that led home. It stung fiercely, but provided some relief.

A branch snapped from across the bank, and Willow quietly slipped up the embankment and ducked behind huge rotting tree trunk. Voices carried, distant at first, but grew near. A canteen sloshed in the babbling creek.

“It’s not really about the kid, anyways,” a deep voice growled. “That’s just to get things started. She doesn’t want to kill them _all._ Waste of perfectly good hands and feet.”

Someone slid on a slick pile of needles and swore. Willow didn’t dare peek around the trunk, although she didn’t quite know why. One of sounded like her own people. Perhaps Manny, Beartooth’s right-hand man?

“What, you mean the woman?” A higher voice replied, raspy though, as if smoke itself could speak. More water splashed, and a hissed inhale of breath from the chilly water. “Shit, that’s cold. What does The Witch want with all them kids? Too many mouths to feed. Best to leave them on their own, or put ‘em out of their misery.”

 _All them kids?_ Her stomach churned a little, then tumbled around even more as she watched a giant centipede slither towards her foot, all those little insect feet fluttering across the forest floor. She placed her hand over her mouth and breathed slowly, quietly through her nose. Were they talking about the settlement of kids that paid tribute? There were quiet grumblings in the Coven about stealing from a bunch of kids, but those supplies helped feed their own few scrawny children, and the rest of their people. 

Willow held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. The centipede marched forward, a million legs tickling her bare ankle as it crawled past. After it was gone, she still felt creepy-crawlies up and down her legs, but she remained motionless.

Maybe-Manny replied. “You idiot- you see how curious they’re getting? That woman will keep them in line only for so long. They’ll turn into shithead teenagers soon- do you think they’ll happily keep handing over their shit?”

“We need it though. We need their shit.”

“And we’ll keep getting their shit. Just gotta take care of the woman, then the kids’ll be pacified for awhile longer. Then…”

It was silent for a moment, some gesture or unspoken meaning shared between the two speakers, then, they laughed. It was a cruel sound in the peace of the forest, and Willow’s stomach seized.

The voices faded down the bank as they followed the creek, away from home.

Willow let out sigh and took in big lung-fulls of air. She didn’t buy it, that they needed the other group’s scavenges. It left a sour taste in her mouth, taking from other groups that were just trying to survive. Especially little kids. But she remembered that winter, long ago. All the graves they couldn’t dig in the frozen earth. Lines of bodies, really just bones with skin, with neat holes punctured between their eyes, carried out before the weakened corpses could turn.

It was a dark winter. Willow still felt like _it_ was in there, crawling around and corrupting her insides. Whoever had been put into that stew, that delicious, aromatic stew that saved Willow from sure starvation. Willow still refused to this day to eat any stew she didn’t prepare herself. It had been an evil winter. The Witch was always reminding them of that, and who saved them. And who had betrayed them.

Willow stayed crouched for a minute longer, then peeked over the trunk – empty forest. Bile rose up in her throat, and she spat on the ground, her mouth burning from the acid. There were so many secrets now, and she didn’t like it.

She had to go speak with The Witch.

/ / / / /

Littlechapel was in their usual organized chaos, each child at their respective jobs with their respective partners. _Whistle while you work, tra-la-la-la-la._

But Lucy was distracted, distant. After they’d arrived back from the tribute drop-off, she’d warned the twins and Axel not to say anything, not yet anyways, fully aware that the warning wouldn’t be heeded for long. Her fake cheerfulness did not go unnoticed (children are always far more perceptive than given credit for), and a tension hung in the air. Only the youngest were seemingly oblivious, still more concerned about whether they’d get chocolate pudding for dessert (over the dreaded butterscotch) or whether their Rest Day coincided with their friends.

Lucy sat in her office, which was really a narrow storage room with a desk that spilled out papers like water leaking out of a dam. She’d put Cupcake in charge while she was sequestered here, and she could hear the girl’s loud voice carry through the ventilation system with an authority that brought tears to Lucy’s eyes.

 _It’s time,_ she thought finally. In the chaos somewhere was her red binder, and she sifted through papers until locating it deep within old discarded schedules that she still hung onto for some reason. Proof that she had kept this settlement going long after the other adults abandoned her, telling her it was a fruitless effort. They’d only lasted weeks, at most. _Abandoned._ Years had passed now.

The binder was full of scribbled notes and torn pages collected through the years. The plan, the future plan. At first, a distant dream. As time crept on, more and more a reality.

She rummaged for the walkie-talkie and found it under a pile of papers she’d just moved around.

“Cupcake?”

“Yeah?” the voice crackled over the tinny speakers.

“I need you to ring the bell twice in about an hour and get an announcement out. Anyone over thirteen need to stay after dinner and meet in the back office. The younger kids will get indoor freetime.” _How many will that be?_ Lucy made a quick mental checklist. Six so far.

“Everything okay?”

Lucy hesitated for a moment. The silence was too full of tension, unsaid things. Mustn’t worry her, not yet. “Yeah, we all just need to talk.”

“Alright, will do boss!”

Lucy spent the rest of the afternoon scribbling frantic notes and shuffling through teetering stacks of paper. Her thoughts were interrupted occasionally with flashes of the newcomers from before, Negan and his men. Why? They were long gone, and had no clue where Littlechapel was. It wasn’t on most maps either, except on local brochures at the ranger’s station and a few small-town stores. The brochures were promptly burned when found.

 _No trace anywhere._ That was the scavenging motto, anyways.

Negan’s million-watt smile. That baseball bat of his, wrapped in barbed wire. His men looked strong, capable in a fight. Hell, according to Billy, they held up on their own in the ambush for a long time. They obeyed her wishes while they were here… could they be trusted? A marble of an idea rolled around in her head. Around, around, around. She scribbled notes, then crossed them out. Her eyes watered from the strain, so she sat in silence and meditated. Not thinking, but not _not_ thinking.

Dinnertime. It was the bell that alerted her, not the time. Lucy led them in grace, as usual, and the kids inhaled their dinner, as usual. They chattered and bounced in their seats while they negotiated free time allocation and traded desserts. The usual chaos, but it was their own.

After dinner, the younger kids had been shooed out and all stragglers accounted for. Cupcake delegated clean-up to the Sophies, who looked less than pleased but accepted their duty with only minimal grumbling.

Six of the kids (teenagers, Lucy supposed she should call them that now), gathered in her office: the twins Ethan and Nathan, Fletch, Cupcake, Rachel, and-

“Where’s Ghost?” Lucy asked.

The teens looked around and shrugged.

“He’s only here when he wants to be,” Fletch said finally. “Which isn’t very often at all.”

“I didn’t see him,” Cupcake said, “so I left a note by the back gate a few hours ago. He might be out all night, you know him. He’s like a stray cat.”

Lucy sighed and rubbed her eyes. As if on cue, the door clicked open and a tall, straggly youth appeared in the doorway. He was a head taller than Lucy, with ice-blue eyes and a tumble of thick sandy-blonde hair shorn tightly. Patches of hair threatened his jaw with the whispers of a beard on his serious face. He wore camouflage smeared with dirt and soot, with a bow slung over his back.

“Ghost!” Cupcake cried. She searched for other words but found none, instead pulling on her braid and twirling it nervously through her fingers. The others grunted or nodded acknowledgement with all the enthusiasm that teenagers could muster.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and shoved his way into the cramped office. Rachel, far too polite for her own good, immediately leapt up to give him her seat on the edge of an empty desk, and she shoved in closer to Cupcake. Nathan clapped a heavy hand on Ghost, who smiled sheepishly. After a moment of shuffling and jabbing elbows, the teens settled in once more.

“Alright, we don’t have these often,” Lucy said. “But we gotta talk about some goings-on here. You know I’m happy doing all the Boring Adult Stuff, but sometimes, we need to get together to talk.”

“A quorum,” Rachel said, pushing up her glasses.

“Right. A quorum.”

Nathan elbowed Ethan, who raised his hand tentatively.

Lucy sighed again. “Ethan, you don’t have to raise your hand, there’s only seven of us in here. What’s your question?”

“What’s a quorum?”

Rachel glanced around, and finding no takers, she answered. “The minimum amount of members in a group that need to be present in order for a meeting to be valid.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow at Nathan, who shook his head slightly and shrugged. Rachel gave him a small smile. “I’ll explain it later, it’s just an official type of meeting.”

Lucy took out the big red binder and let it _thud_ gently on the desk. “So. The Shadow Coven.”

The teens groaned collectively.

“I know, I know. They’re bad people, bad news,” Lucy said.

“They take all our shit!” Ethan burst out.

“Assholes,” Nathan agreed. Fletch angrily kicked the desk drawer beneath him with a metallic _clunk._

“They killed almost all the chickens. _Tortured_ them, practically, then butchered them right in the coop.” Cupcake said tearfully. “We nearly had a full flock, and had to start practically from scratch. Assholes is _right,_ Nate.” Nathan nodded. They all began to talk at once, all of the anger and frustration pouring out.

Lucy allowed it for a moment, but quieted them down with a firm clearing of her throat. Before she could speak, Rachel reminded them all of the worst of it.

“They took Melody,” she said in a low voice, sad brown eyes cast to the floorboards. They murmured in agreement, and silence settled in.

“That’s right,” Lucy said. “They _took_ one of our own just to prove a point. And then she died, under their watch. Never again.” She stood up and began pacing around the room.

“As you know, Kira was spotted by the Witch, or the Shadow Coven, a few days back. She was at the perimeter fence, mending a hole she’d found out near the berry bushes. One of the goats got out, and we still haven’t found him. While searching for the sneaky guy, she saw the Witch and some others. Why the Coven was clear out here, I don’t know. But she saw something she shouldn’t have.”

“What?” Cupcake asked.

“I don’t know, honey. Maybe it was nothing, and they’re lying. I don’t like it, though. She didn’t know either, she says she just knew it was them, and they were in the middle of some dance or something. Maybe a ritual, hell, I don’t know what they get up to. Anyways, now they want us to surrender her to them.”

The twins leapt to their feet, and Cupcake slapped a hand to her mouth. “No! We…we can’t!”

Lucy shook her head. “Hell no. That’s not an option, and I told them as much.”

Ethan nodded. “She did. Told the Big Man himself.”

Ghost whistled low and exchanged a glance with Fletch. “Shit. Beartooth?”

Lucy nodded again. “Yep.” Ghost laughed, a deep booming thing that Lucy hadn’t heard before. _When did they get so grown up?_

“As you can imagine, he wasn’t pleased. I should have delayed, made some excuse to buy us time, but I didn’t. And now, well…” She swallowed hard. “They made their intentions clear, that they won’t let us get away with defiance. We need to prepare. That’s what I need to talk with you all about. They could be bluffing, just trying to intimidate us.”

Ghost shook his head. “They don’t bluff.” If anyone knew, it would be Ghost. He was the only one who could move around the woods without being spotted by the Coven.

All eyes turned to him. He ran his fingers through his hair and shifted uncomfortably. “Meant to say something earlier but the timing didn’t feel right. Been out there for a few days now, huntin’ and trappin’. Got us some good meat to smoke in the garage.”

“Well,” Cupcake said breathlessly, “what did you see?” Her cheeks tinged pink. _I’ll have to keep on eye on that,_ Lucy noted. So far they’d managed to scrape by unscathed by the scandals that romance brought, but the kids were growing up, noticing one another a bit more.

Ghost looked around at the group before landing on Lucy. She nodded, though she didn’t know what he was seeking permission to say.

He took out a piece of gum from his pocket, the packet crumbled and fraying at the edges, and chewed thoughtfully before selecting his words. “A camp, about a day from here. Small, just tents and a few lean-tos, probably haven’t been here very long. At least not since last winter.”

He dropped his eyes to the ground. “All dead. Murdered by the Coven and picked clean. Their bones and their stuff.”

Cupcake gasped. “They…picked their bones?”

“Weren’t no animal.”

“How do you know?” Lucy asked.

Ghost’s eyes were faraway, seeing the past and not the present. “They hung the bones from the trees. They carved out hollows in the trees for the skulls.”

Rachel hugged Cupcake to her side. “Why did they just leave the bones? They usually leave the bodies.”

Fletch shook his head. “I don’t think I wanna know.”

“Why?” asked Ethan. No one answered.

“How d’you know it was them?” Nathan asked. They all knew, but waited for the answer.

Ghost rummaged through his sack and pulled out some strange looking objects: sticks and animal bones wrapped in twine. They’d seen the talismans before, though: a calling card from the Coven. _Danger_ , it meant. Or _victory._ It was left as an omen, or after a slaughter.

“Why were they killed?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might-“

“Are we next?”

“Focus!” Lucy said, her voice slightly raised. “Okay. Maybe they aren’t bluffing, let’s just assume not to be safe. What do _we_ do? Do we stay and fight? Do we take the buses and leave? They show up from the trees like shadows. They’ve snuck through our defenses countless times to leave those talismans before. After they killed the chickens, before they took Melody.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I want to talk this through. We need to decide as a group, then take the plan to the rest of us.”

Cupcake stood up, her lip quivering slightly. “This is our _home._ We’ve been here since the beginning, since the world went to hell! We were abandoned here. Left behind. Only Lucy chose to stay so we wouldn’t _die_ on our own. All our other teachers left, the other parents fled after getting their own kids. We’re a _family_ now, and we’re all we’ve got _._ I say we FIGHT!”

The twins agreed, loudly. Ghost did as well, his head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah,” he said. “What she said. We can take them.”

Lucy glanced around. “Rach? Fletch?”

Fletch spoke first. “Why not both? We can ‘Home Alone’ this place with traps and stuff. We have the caverns, too, where we can send the little ones for safety. I already have emergency supplies in there, and Batty Barry can navigate that place safely, barefoot with only a penlight and a rope.”

“Yeah,” Rachel interjected, “but he’s also a little…”

The quorum all began speaking at once with ideas, worries, and half-baked plans. Lucy sat back for a few minutes and let them talk it out, rubbing her temples. A headache was threatening to go full-migraine. _Air. We need air._

The room was getting stuffy from all of them crammed in there, the air growing hot and oppressive. Beads of condensation trickled down the windows and Lucy walked over to crack one of them open for fresh air. Lucy stopped listening to the teens momentarily and looked out over the little corner of her world she could see from the window.

It was cooling down for the evening, and she could hear the murmurs from the recreation area on the other side of the building. Laughing, teasing, singing. A little voice said something, and many voices returned a hearty cheer. The gardens were healthy and growing, and she could spot slight movement on the walls beyond from the kids on guard duty.

Lucy’s eyes welled up. Her plan, since day one, had always been the same: ensure they would be self-sufficient. If she died, heaven forbid, she wanted them to be _safe._ To have rules and structure to carry on afterwards. If she died, they would carry on.

And now, danger that threatened it all. It could all slip through their fingers.

“What about those men?” she said quietly. The others didn’t hear her. She took a deep breath of fresh air; it was cool and crisp outside. It smelled of pine and sap, juniper berries and earth. _Home._ And the Shadow Coven threatened to take all that away. Away from _children,_ for God’s sake.

She slammed the window closed. The teens all jumped and looked at her, startled.

“What about those men we rescued?” she asked again. “We patched up one of their own and sent them on their way?”

Ethan nodded. “They said they had a lot more people, just not many kids,” he said. “Billy said they had weapons at the bar, they’d just run out of ammunition.”

Cupcake shook her head. “No way. They gave me the creeps.”

“Everyone gives you the creeps,” Ethan said.

Lucy agreed. “You guys don’t get to interact a lot anymore with outsiders, besides the Coven. And they are exceptionally creepy. Negan and his crew certainly had a vibe about them, but not to harm us. I know we were watching them carefully, but they could have tried to cause trouble, and they didn’t.”

They all pondered for a moment. Finally Ghost spoke. “The Coven doesn’t have a lot of manpower. It’s hard to pin down their exact number, but I think maybe fifty or sixty? That might be just the capable ones, hunters and fighters. Their nest is deep in the woods, I know the direction but haven’t gone there. If I bring enough supplies, I could stake it out…”

Lucy nodded. “We need to find their base camp. And we need to find those men.”

Ethan and Nathan nodded. “What did they call themselves? The leather-wearing dudes?”

Lucy smiled. “The Saviors. I guess we’ll have to put that name to the test. Now, who wants to help me find them?”

/ / / / /

**AN: Still updating! My posting schedule is delayed still, not quite up to my usual level of cranking out chapters, so I appreciate everyone’s patience. I had a good chunk of time the past several months where I was unable to write, but I’ve been delving back in and getting back into the swing of things. Hope all of you are safe and well, and stay tuned for the next chapter** **😊**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

“Now, where the fuck is that settlement?” Negan asked. The map laid out before him offered no useful response. _Shit._ He shoved it towards Daryl and rubbed his eyes. It was past midnight by now, and they both were struggling to stay focused. Late, too late for work, but Negan had a severe shortage of time and an overabundance of Shit-To-Do. A few weeks ago, he’d never guess that he’d be holed up in his office with the rueful redneck, pouring over old topographical maps. Though he had to admit, despite the sullen attitude, Daryl kept quiet at least.

Negan wiped his brow. The office was stuffy, even though outside it was cool. Daryl stared at the map, deep in concentration, so Negan stretched and went to crack a window. 

“Jeeee-zus, that’ll freeze your balls clean off,” he said as a cool wind offered some relief. He looked back with a half-grin, but Daryl was still scowling at the map.

People poured in and out of Negan’s office all day, wanting this or that. Sometimes a wife would grace him with her presence, but it was more often than not to butter him up for something they wanted. Christ. Four wives- what a dumb goddamn idea that was. A novelty at first, and fun for bragging. But the day-to-day of it, the resentment they held now… And how was he supposed to keep up an image of casual leadership with an abundance of fucking when he was too goddamn busy? He ripped off his leather jacket and folded it neatly onto a nearby chair where Lucille was perched. It had been too long. He was thirsty. She was thirsty…

Negan padded over to his bar and poured a few fingers of whiskey. Sanctuary was quiet this time of night, only the patrols were awake. Somewhere distant, a door slammed closed after muffled laughter- a high tittering abrupted halted, then an explosion of giggles. At least someone was having a good time.

“They’re somewhere in here,” Daryl said finally. “Sir.” The last word came out reluctantly- he was still learning. His dirt-crusted finger circled a vague area on the map.

“That’s the closest you can get?” Negan asked, handed Daryl the rest of his whiskey. “Here, finish this.”

Daryl eyed him suspiciously.

“Or don’t.” Negan snatched the map out of Daryl’s hand. “Jesus, you gotta relax. You think I’d keep you around this long if I _planned_ to kill you? Not that it’s totally off the table, but poison ain’t my fuckin’ game.”

Daryl knocked back the glass and set it down. “Ain’t worried about you killin’ me. Sir.”

“Then why do you look like I just dipped my balls in your morning cereal?” He glanced at the clock. “Or more like your midnight snack. Fuck, it’s late.”

Daryl didn’t respond. Negan felt his teeth clink together and forced his jaw to unclench. Daryl was useful, he reminded himself. Lucille was thirsty, but he needed to give her someone of little to no value. That’s what it was: Daryl was more than useful, he was _valuable_. But Negan could never shake off that stink eye, so familiar and _Rick-like._ Fucking Rick the Prick.

“Jesus, I kill a few of your people and you act like I’m goddamn Buffalo Bill out here, throwing women in wells and making furniture from their fuckin’ skin. Remember that shit? _Silence of the Lambs_? No? Jesus. Lighten up, or this is going to be a long fuckin’ enterprise.” Negan pulled out a red pen from his drawer and handed it to Daryl.

“It is.”

“ _Sir._ You’re tellin’ me. Shit.”

“No, I mean it’s the closest I can get.” Daryl pointed a finger at the map, the suspected area now circled in red. “They show the whole mountain range, I think. We need a smaller area. Only the main roads are visible, an’ I don’t think they took those. We need a map that includes service roads, maybe fire roads or off-road trails.” He stared down at the map, before remembering: “Sir.”

“Smart. Stay off the main roads listed in most maps.”

“Maybe it was on purpose, but maybe just lucky. The caverns were small, not a big tourist attraction really. More a local sight. A gas stations or truck stops closer to the area might have a brochure or something.”

“Littlechapel Caverns. Hmmm.” Negan sat down and leaned back in his chair. If he sent out a party to look for the brochures, it would raise questions on why Negan was looking for such a specific site. He had to play this close, for now, even from his own men. Just for now.

He swept his hand over his desk, pushing dozens of half-folded maps into a box on the ground. “Take these and pick out the best ones to take along.” Daryl gathered up the box and moved towards the door, waiting to be excused. His clothes fit much better than the dirty rags Negan had him in before, though the jeans were a little too big and the sleeves on the flannel shirt were a little short. But he’d earned it, and Negan always paid on his debts. Good or bad.

He waited expectantly for the follow-up question, but Daryl just looked back at him.

“’ _Along where?’_ Why, I’m happy tell you, Daryl boy.” Negan broke out into a grin. “We’re going on a little excursion.”

Daryl grunted and nodded, unsurprised. He shifted the box in his hands and looked at the ground still.

“Goddamn, you are no fuckin’ fun. Listen up, ‘cause you’ll like this one. You do a good job on this, find me the gaggle of kids and their fearless fuckin’ leader, and I’ll make you a sweet deal.”

He waited again, and when there was no response, he continued. “I’ll let you go back to your precious Rick, no harm, no foul. No fuckin’ tricks, either. Scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

Daryl looked interested now. It was a new look, and Negan liked it. “Yeah, that’ll light a fire under your ass, huh? But it doesn’t end with just finding them. There’s something else going on that we’re going to find out about. They’re scared of something else out there, and it ain’t walkers. Once it’s all over and done with, you’re free.”

Daryl nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, I like that. Almost sounded like you meant it, Daryl boy.” Negan waved for Daryl to leave, box in hand, back to the barrack he shared with five other Saviors.

Daryl started to leave, but stopped in the doorway. His back was to Negan, and yet he still knew somehow that Daryl was conflicted about something. Negan had a sense if he said shit, Daryl would walk away, so he stayed silent. Finally, the useful hillbilly spoke. “They’re talkin’ about that guy, sir. The one whose innards decorated your pavement like confetti. And your wife…ex-wife, I guess.”

Negan merely looked at him, hoping his face was casual, though his insides balled up like a fist. “And what do ‘ _they_ ’ have to fuckin’ say about it?”

Daryl shrugged. “Just talk, is all. But the kind of talk that leads to trouble. Don’t want to get myself in any more than I have to here. Sir.” He shifted the box in his arms, then shut the door behind him.

Negan rubbed his face with his hand, smelling hints of bourbon and ink smudged on the sides of his hand. He knew it. It had been rash, too emotional. Pushing Mark off the roof was probably a Bad Idea. Heat of the moment stupidity. It was violent, oh yes, and Negan was violent, but also impersonal. Too easy to shove someone off a ledge, and no audience to relay his point to. Negan preferred personal. Face your enemy, look them in the eye, let them see who took their life before it was light’s out for good. Negan also preferred an audience- not _just_ for the showmanship, but he liked to prove some sort of point. Lucille wouldn’t have steered him wrong. Her sweet barbs tearing into Mark’s smug fucking face would have led to whispers among his people too, but the good kind. The fearful kind of whispers, done behind closed doors, away from watchful eyes.

Another goddamn thing to check off his ever-growing to-do list: dispel any dissent. Let them know who the Boss is.

And so he did. His people, the Sanctuary people, the people of the Saviors, were gathered the next morning. Attendance was mandatory, of course. All the residents of Sanctuary huddled in the old factory floor, feet scratching on the concrete floor dusted with traces of sand, copper, and iron flecks. The forges were roaring with fire, though only the tiny windows flickered with hot white flames. Tendrils of smoke leaked through the decaying seals and stretched out black fingers to reach towards the yawning, bleary-eyed men and women. No children were allowed here, not for this. Not even Negan wanted that.

Negan slept about as good as they looked, and they looked like shit. But they’d never know that, not with three cups of black coffee dumping caffeine in his veins. He approached a small balcony, really just part of a steel walkway that snaked down five stories onto the cement floor below. When they looked up and saw him, the huddled masses of Sanctuary kneeled immediately. They stayed kneeling as Negan’s heavy boots echoed in the vast room.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

His boots told a story with each step, stories that were different to each person there, but all resulted in the same thing: obedience. He tapped Lucille on the steel handlebars, letting the barbs scrape gently but not enough to dull them too badly. Nails on chalkboard. Even he wasn’t much of a fan, but the effect was breathtaking. Disquieting. The room was silent as he descended. Still kneeling. Still afraid.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Their knees were likely screaming as he took his time. _Good._ Let them remember who gave them shelter and safety, provided food and clean water and clothes. Sacrificed his men for them, sacrificed his life, his mind, his sleep for them.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

_Negan. Negan. Negan._

He reached the ground floor and looked around. A hundred residents, give or take, kneeling to his authority. A few of them were using their hands to balance now. _Ungrateful,_ he thought. _I know a bunch of kids who work harder than you all, and whine a lot less._ Yesterday there were rumblings about the rough towels. A week prior, the food wasn’t salted enough. Not enough batteries for personal radios, the video game selection was poor. Better courtyard needed for rec time. _Bitch, bitch, bitch._

“It has come to my attention,” his voice boomed out over the bowed heads, “that some of you may question my decisions.” He waited another moment, the silence a heavy boulder in the air. Knees trembling now, some were visible wobbling.

“Rise.”

He waited as they stood shakily, some gripping onto their neighbor for stability. They weren’t kneeling enough, apparently. He’d gone soft on them.

“Well, now. Let’s all have a little chat.” He began to pace in front of the forge. The fire casted long, dancing shadows in front. Backlit by the lights of the forge, he was a shadow to them as well, the huddled and _ungrateful_ mass. Lucille was a shadow, too. _But death waits in the shadows._

“I _really_ must fuckin’ apologize for the haste in which I disposed of some shit called Mark. Wasn’t fair, and I guess a screaming body travelling at 60 miles per-fuckin’-hour, then splattering the workers below is a little… jarring, I admit. Shit! Like a fucked up pinata splattering open for all the kiddies! My _usual_ protocol is here, in this lovely ballroom we have of fire and chaos. I missed a solid fuckin’ opportunity to put on a show for you all, so here I am, making it up to you. _Is this what you wanted?_ Bread and goddamn circuses?”

Silence. _Good._ Had anyone spoke, they would be up here on their knees, begging for mercy. Fire burned in his veins, now. If they only realized what he did for them, the sacrifices he made…

Negan’s Saviors lined the walls sporadically, leather-clad and itching for blood. It had been awhile since they had a good fight or a good show. Some of them fidgeted with their rifles, or the safeties on their pistols. Practically begging someone to go off.

“Mark was a piece-of-shit, true. I should have given him a proper fuckin’ _trial_ in front of all of you. But I was angry. You all understand that feeling. Mad, pissed off, ticked as hell! That scrawny son of a bitch was _stealing._ Not from me, no sir.

“Stealing from _you._ Your hard-fucking-earned rewards from scavenging, the food you work so hard at to cultivate. And he was fuckin’ my wife- oops. Ex-wife now, darlin’. She’s single and ready to mingle now, fellas! What a fuckin’ catch!”

Negan caught Amber’s eyes from across the crowd. Her eyes were red-brimmed but bright as beacons. He almost didn’t recognize her in regular clothes, hidden in the crowd. She only looked back at him with dull, empty eyes. Broken. _Good._

He continued to plant the seed. “So I killed him in a rage, I fuckin’ admit it, after catching him red-handed pilfering supplies.” He stopped to scan the crowd: their faces were tired, but no hints of discord. A few of them were nodding in agreement, ones he recognized as helping prep and unlock for those scavenging trips. Now, for the rest of them.

“I’m down to three wives, after one of them broke my rule. It is _only_ through an immense amount of goddamn self-restraint that I don’t drag her up here by her hair and iron her face just like all the other rule-breakers-”

“Fuck you!”

A few gasps broke out and several people hissed orders to shut up, be quiet. 

“No, I won’t- FUCK YOU, Negan!”

Negan smiled. _Bingo._

A scuffle broke out in the crowd immediately, and three of the nearest Saviors barreled through the crowd, who parted easily towards the disturbance. Fists went flying and more curses were hurled as the Saviors descended on the cluster of flying hands and feet. Amber cried out something unintelligible, the words twisted up in her throat and jumbled. Then it was quiet once more.

Negan stood calmly, almost placidly, as a bloodied figure was dragged towards him. Through the smeared blood and likely broken nose, Negan saw it was Mark’s brother. He didn’t remember his name, the man was always so forgettable. What’s-His-Name spat blood and pieces of broken teeth on the ground near Negan’s boots and wobbled to his feet. He already had a permanently pinched face that hinted of rodent, his nose now cocked at an odd angle. His eyes were bloodshot under a tangle of wild hair. He clutched at his ribs, likely fractured or broken from one of the Savior’s steel-toed boots.

“My brother wasn’t a fuckin’ thief,” he wheezed. “You are, ya egotistical fuck.”

Negan smiled and waved away the Saviors holding the man back. What’s-His-Name looked defiantly at Negan, shoulders squared and legs planted firm, though he listed towards the right with every breath. Maybe a broken piece of rib stabbing his lung, or his liver. The guy had balls, Negan could admit that much.

“I’m a thief?” Negan purred.

“You stole Amber from the beginning. She already had a boyfriend, and you bullied and intimidated-“ Before he could finish, Snake lurched forward, breaking free from the other Saviors trying to hold him back, and sucker-punched Mark’s brother square in the mouth. Snake hissed and quickly shook the pain out of his bloodied knuckles as the man dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Now you _know_ I can’t tolerate that sort of talk…whatever the fuck your name is,” Negan drawled. He walked in a slow circle around the man lying fetal on the ground. Blood poured freely from his lips, a small puddle forming.

What the hell was his name? _Mike? Matt? Something similar to his brother’s name,_ Negan thought. It didn’t matter, but it felt wrong to bash in his head without knowing it.

“I don’t steal,” Negan told the crowd, who nodded back obediently. “I _offer opportunities._ All my wives were given options, which they chose. They’re free to leave anytime. Isn’t that right, darlin’?” He caught Sherry’s eye at the edge of the crowd, Tanya on one side and Frankie on the other. Stone faces, cold and unemotional. They nodded mechanically. _No love there._

_Does everyone hate you?_ He shook off the thought, twisting Lucille in his hands. Her shape felt good; the wood strong and sturdy. Solid. Lucille…Lucy…Lucille…Lucy. Why was he thinking about that woman when he was about to- _never mind_.

The crowd of residents were silent, a collective breath held. They knew what was coming, and yet the suspense was still there. Mark’s brother struggled to his feet. He slipped in his own blood and kneeled for a moment, though it was a kneel of necessity, not reverence. Negan rolled his neck, feeling the bones _crack crack crack_.

“You’re an _asshole_ ,” the brother finally spat out. Little droplets of blood splattered on Negan’s jeans and the concrete floor. “They don’t follow you out of love, they’re just afraid.”

Negan nodded. “They should be.”

He cranked Lucille back, calculating the most ideal spot on this fucker’s head for Lucille to kiss. The man closed his eyes and straightened up, prepared to take the blow. A noble, but idiotic sacrifice.

Before Lucille met bone and brain, a cry from the crowd caused Negan to look up. He was annoyed, wanting to get this bullshit over with. A small girl had slipped through the crowd, curious at the spectacle. She was barefoot, in a too-large t-shirt and pants about an inch too short. Her big brown eyes looked around in a mixture of wonder and horror. The brother hadn’t seen her yet, one eye was now swollen, and he spat on the ground near the girl’s feet. She took a few steps back, stumbled, then plopped on her bottom with a wail.

Someone scooped her up quickly, and she disappeared back into the crowd.

Negan felt all the air go out of his lungs. Empty. How fitting. But it was now or never, if he backed down now, it would be weakness. _Weakness kills._

He looked down at Lucille. Sparkling barbs, smooth wood as soft as velvet. _Lucille kills, too._

And she did. Oh, did she ever. It took Negan three finger-pricking hours to clean her after he crushed in the bastard brother’s skull, and more soap than he’d care to admit. It wasn’t another five hours before his hands stopped trembling, and he didn’t sleep a wink that night. Again.

/ / / / /

**AN: I hope you all are well and staying safe. Your comments, favorites, PMs are so much appreciated and I wish you all to continue down this journey with me as we discover what happens next! Progress is slow, but it’s happening. Stay tuned, my lovelies. xoxox**


	12. Chapter 12

“Herd’s passing through.” Carl squinted through binoculars. “Big one, too. Wanna see?”

“No, I see ‘em. Damn,” Michonne said in a low voice. They lay on top of an old overturned semi-truck that had slid down the steep embankment behind them long ago. Vines had become to reclaim the litter of cars that had been abandoned on the winding road above, and then at some point, a mudslide dashed them away like pieces on a chess board.

Carl sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Figures. We’ve got a big one in there, so of course there’ll be a herd.”

The gun range lay ahead about half a mile or so. Michonne had scoped this place out earlier, the car graveyard provided decent cover and the advantage of lookout post. 

Walkers, dozens of them, clumped in a herd. They’d usually meet up with one another eventually, traveling in a sort of pack that took no notice of one another. Just a shared group of ravenous husks. Oftentimes, the noises they made themselves were enough to draw others.

Michonne exchanged the binocolars for a smudged bottle of eyedrops, which Carl took gratefully. She peered through the lenses, assessing the group herself.

“Thought you didn’t want ‘em.”

“Shut up.”

This group had been gathering around the range- actually more stuck then gathering, by the looks of it. Tangles of overgrown blackberry bushes, untended and free to encroach on mud-and-gravel parking lot. The more walkers gathered, the more got tangled as they pushed into one another. The noise drew more of them, and more got stuck. Now they’d turned into a giant mass of shredded, rotting flesh. It stank. It stank _bad._

“Dad’s going to be pissed.”

“Worse. He’s going to want to do something about it.” Michonne rolled her eyes and winced as she shifted her weight.

Carl groaned and rolled over on his back. “Yeah,” he said. “But that’s when he’s at his best.”

  
“Mmm.” Michonne grunted, her lips tugged into a frown. “Let’s head back. We’re losing daylight, and this mess is only going to get worse.”

/ / / / /

“It’s only going to get worse.”

Willow inspected the angry slashes on Redtail Tim’s hand. Careless, as usual. 

“My own trap,” Tim said, shaking his head. “She bit me…ow!”

“Good, maybe next time you’ll remember not to yank your hand out!. Cut the trap and bring it in, then I can remove it.”

She couldn’t tell if the alcohol in the air was from the batch she’d poured over his wound, or from his breath. Likely both. Careless injuries were up again, and not just from Tim. They’d start pilfering her medical supplies soon, in search of the strong stuff. Tim was already glancing around the tent, trying to size up where her bottles were in case he needed to come again.

Willow’s home, her big army tent, was where the sick, injured, liars, or a mix of those three wandered in. Redtail Tim was only the latest. He looked like a prison inmate awaiting sentencing as he sat on a folding chair, shirtless and barefoot, black tattoos snaked up his arms and blossomed on his chest in an intricate tiger stripes of swirls and lines. They crept all the way up his neck onto his head, where they curled around his ears and up his shaved skull. He looked terrifying in battle, and could be terrifying in general, although now he was more drunk than injured, a complacent lion. Willow rooted through a frayed duffle bag in the corner of her tent until she found a horrible-smelling poultice. They both grimaced, but Tim allowed her to lather the wound and bandage it.

“The ladies won’t be too pleased,” he grunted, wrinkling his nose as some of the foul brownish stuff oozed from the edge of the bandage.

“Weren’t too pleased to begin with,” Willow said, snapping the lid back on. “You won’t be missing anything now that you weren’t missing before. Neither will they.”

“Bitch.” Tim squeezed her shoulder with his good hand and stood up. He lumbered out, pausing in the doorway. “Thank you. Lee is pregnant again, could do with some of your teas.”

Willow smiled. “Congratulations, she must be thrilled.” _No, she isn’t._ “I’ll stop by tomorrow morning and bring her some.”

“You trying again tonight? To speak with her?”

“Yes. Are you on shift?”

“Fuck no, we give that to the young bucks now. She isn’t going to see you.”

Willow shrugged and turned her back to him, pretending to root through her things to take inventory. “I need to talk to her. It’s worth a try.”

“Probably said the same thing when they launched the Titantic.”

“Why doesn’t she just kill me, if I’m so offensive to her?”

Tim shrugged. “Blood is different.” With that, he pushed through her tent flap, into the night. Cool air rushed in, and she heard fires crackling out into camp. Low laughter. Warmth.

She packed her bag for the night: a book, mystery of course, some jerky and a carefully wrapped basket of berries balancing on top. She thought for a moment, and shoved in some extra rags- ruining a perfectly good book with berry stained fingers…

_Ruiner. Ruiner of all things._

Willow waved the memory away and stormed out into the night. She walked away from the glowing fires, away from friends ( _what friends?)_ , and towards the yawning maw of a cave- _the_ cave that they had settled outside of.

Willow nodded to the guards outside the cave, although they didn’t acknowledge her, they allowed her to perch near the campfire and crack open her book. The guards did look like young bucks, as Tim had said. Sturdy young men whose facial hair finally came growing in some vague formidable way, baby fat burned away from hours of training and the slightest edge of hardness in their eyes. They would look at her with a mix of pity and disgust, the _traitor_ daring to get this close, though they didn’t say anything. She ignored them, not really but she pretended, and crouched near the light of the fire, ripping pieces of jerky with her teeth and reading the same dog-eared book she brought last time, and the time before that, and before that. The guards didn’t understand, in their naïve youth and bravado (thought she was likely only a few years older).

She’d wait for as long as it took, her own stubbornness could rival- if not exceed- that of the Witch. They both knew that.

Light danced up the entrance to the cave, casting long, demonic shadows. Strange sounds echoed from within: hints of words, or gasps, or moans that echoed into one another until they because snippet bursts of sound, like animal calls. She read the same sentence over and over without comprehending it as the sounds grew louder, and more haunting. Was it a party inside, or something sinister?

_Perhaps both,_ she thought. The two often intertwined here. She sighed and settled down. It would be just another long night, waiting and waiting for her sister to acknowledge her, if she could even call her that anymore.

_Sister._ It didn’t seem to mean anything these days. Before, before all of _this,_ it had meant everything.

/ / / / /

“Stop it, both of you! For god’s sake, you’re brothers!” Lucy shoved apart the twins, bracing her forearms against their chests. They tried to lunge forward again, like elks locking horns, but between them was an immovable force. She only had to look at the other children in the room, and they flew out, shutting the door behind them.

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?”

Blood poured from Ethan’s nose, and Nathan’s knuckles were scraped and bleeding. Both had black eyes and bruises, and what looked suspiciously like bite marks – human, not walker, thankfully.

They stood silent on either side of her, looking intensely at one another over her head. Their chests heaved against her hands, and occasionally one would try to move towards the other until Lucy threw her weight towards them.

They were big now, as tall, if not taller, than most adults. But they still had the hearts of children, struggling and stumbling into adulthood in a cruel and uncaring world. The twins rarely fought, they were usually thick as thieves, but when they did it was akin to guerrilla warfare. They never shared what it was over usually, either. A bloody nose, a black eye, a few hours of ignoring one another and it was back to normal.

“You guys can’t keep beating the holy hell out of one another when you’re pissed. If you won’t let me mediate, then talk to each other, for God’s sake!” Lucy grabbed both of them by the collar and sheparded them into a nearby storage room. “Don’t come out until you’ve worked it out, and if you destroy that room, you’re both sleeping outside for the next month.”

She heard a massive sigh from behind the door, then silence.

Tensions were high in Littlechapel. Eyes were watching everywhere, the kids were in a constant state of unease. Patrols reported unusual findings – tokens of animal teeth scattered into bizarre patterns, dyed sticks that spelled out unintelligible messages. Lucy doubled the guards on the walls after they found a hole dug under part of the fence in a poorly-lit section. Could be an animal, could be something else. Lucy leaned towards something else.

She looked out over their home in the mid-afternoon daylight. It was getting cold now, the kids were zipped up in ill-fitting jackets and fleece hats pulled over their ears. The summer crops had long been harvested, now the fall crops were growing in. They no longer sang and laughed and teased one another at work. Now they spoke in quiet hushes, like a dozen winds blowing gently through the settlement.

Lucy stopped by Stark’s workbench in the garage. He was hunched over his latest prize: a ham radio. They’d found it weeks ago on a scavenging trip tucked away in a hunting cabin, though it was coated in years of dust and had been damaged by a partially collapsed roof. The bench was littered with manuals yellowed from weather and age, scatterings of various screws and implements, and a handful of food wrappers.

Lucy smiled and scooped up the wrappers to throw them away. Stark jumped in surprise at the noise, but quickly collected himself.

“Hey,” he grunted. His glasses reflected off the bright light on his workstation, giving them a whitish glow. “I need some of those – the wrappers are useful conductors in some of ‘em.”

“Oh. Hey yourself.” She handed him the bin, and he dug through the top and took them back. Lucy looked down with feigned interest at the radio. It didn’t look like much.   
“How’s it going? It already looks miles better than when we found it.”

“Mmm. Need a part. A fuse for sure. But even if I get this thing started, the transmission radius won’t be far. Well, not far enough for us, probably.”

“So, no one will hear us anyways, even if we get it going?”

Stark shrugged. “Probably not. Ham radios usually have less than a 20-mile radius, according to these old things.” He gestured vaguely at the manuals.

Lucy shook her head. “We’re at least 30, 40 miles deep in the forest. That won’t do at all if we’re trying to call to the outside world.”

“Yep. We need a radio repeater.”

“Ah, okay. And that is…?”

Stark sighed, and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Lucy bit back a smile, he already looked like a weary old man at a whopping nine years of age. He was used to translating the technical bits to be more digestible for others, though he still let everyone know how tiresome it was.

“It’ll boost the signal, basically,” he said after a moment.

“So, where do we find one of these?”

Stark shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe in an old forester outpost? The shack that held this might have one, too. They’re big, several pieces of equipment that will be as big as one or two of the filing cabinets in your office.”

“Sounds like they’re going to use up a lot of juice.”

Stark shrugged. “Probably will.”

“And the truck will be crucial.”

“Yep.”

_Shit._ Did they really need this radio, just in case things got out of control? Every day, “just in case” seemed to shift slowly into a more definite world. Lucy leaned against the garage wall, listening to Stark hum as he got lost once again in tinkering. The hole under the fence, the strange oddities left behind… the Coven was ramping up for something. Last time, it was to slaughter their chickens and take their food. The weather was turning again, was the Witch ill-prepared for another winter? They were already giving them more than enough food, or so Lucy thought.

She sighed and turned to Stark. “Pack your bag, we’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Stark looked up, surprised. “What? Why am I going?”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “You’re the only one who knows what the hell we are looking for. You’d think I’d let you sit here all cozy while we bust our butts only to bring you some dicombobulating nonsense? No way. Crack of dawn, Stark. Get plenty of sleep.”

With that, she left the garage, ignoring the quiet stream of swears that Stark muttered under his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

Negan woke with a jolt. He glanced over at the glowing dials on his bedside table and groaned. Three o’-fucking-clock in the morning. On the dot – again.

He laid for another minute, debating whether to get up, then that turned into a few more, waiting…waiting…waiting. The wind howled outside, and Negan thought of the patrols outside. Probably huddled in clumps, smoking cigarettes under the shelters. Exactly what Negan instructed them not to fucking do in inclement weather. He counted backwards from a hundred and made it to fifty-three or fifty- two before he lost track. Counting sheep never did the trick, but counting buxom broads sometimes did – but not tonight. When sleep failed to take him, he groaned once more and sat up.

“You know, I’m gettin’ real sick of this shit,” he said to Lucille, nestled into a nearby chair. “Be careful, sugar. Those barbs will tear the hell out of that upholstery.”

He gave her a good hard look, but Lucille remained stoic. As stoic as a baseball bat could be, anyways. Rain slapped violently against the side of the building in sudden bursts.

He pulled on a t-shirt and swapped out his flannel bottoms for jeans. “I’m just fuckin’ around – I don’t give a shit about that chair. But fuck, one full night’s sleep would be peachy fuckin’ keen.” He pulled on thick wool socks, his boots, and after a brief moment of consideration, a heavy shirt to layer under his usual leather jacket. It was goddamn freezing in Sanctuary, despite his best efforts. Concrete and metal with minimal insulation, it took the first snow of winter for Negan to realize they drastically underestimated supply usage and firewood, but luckily the woods nearby were thick, so they were good on fuel- for now.

The halls were dark and the only noise besides the storm outside was a far-away snore. Negan tried to walk quietly, but his boots refused to comply. Annoyance from sleep deprivation – that was a possible danger with Negan. If he wasn’t so groggy, he’d be murderous.

On the main floor, he wandered about idly. The market was empty except for the patrols who kneeled immediately when they saw Negan, then stood shakily when he released them. Nothing good in the kitchens either – but he grabbed a handful of fresh berries from the fridge. He was the Big Boss, might as well enjoy _something._ He wondered about waking up one of the wives for an old game of slap-and-tickle, but none of them conjured up any amorous thoughts once he considered each one in turn. Plus, they’d be grumpy and pissed, like him, for disturbed sleep. Misery loves company, but Negan didn’t really want any of their company right now.

He thought about going outside, but the sounds of the storm picked back up, and he reconsidered. Maybe the Accountant was up in the wee hours of the morning? Not exactly a barrel of laughs, but Negan didn’t mind the mousy little man – but then he realized, he had no idea where the Accountant actually slept. Was it the third floor or the fourth? He could just ask someone to go get him, and they would.

“Sir?”

Negan looked over. “Hey, Limp Di- Kevin.” _Might as well be nice._ Kevin wasn’t a bad kid, just easy to make fun of, and he took it fairly in stride.

Kevin looked half-asleep, his hair matted on one side and one pajama leg was rolled up on itself. He was barefoot, and Negan half-wondered how on earth he could tolerate the freezing concrete floors. “What’re you doing here in the dark?” Kevin asked.

“Roaming my kingdom. What the fuck you doing up this late?”

Kevin yawned deeply and scratched his belly. “Ah…uh…too much beer with the boys last night.”

“Well go take a piss before you burst.”

“Nah, it’s the heartburn, sir. Kitchen lady keeps some of them antiacid thingies in her desk drawer, lets me have one when the occasion calls for it. Sir.”

Negan cocked an eyebrow. “You banging the kitchen lady? A little tit for Tums?”

“Hah! Uh, no, sir. She’s gotta be my mom’s age. No, I like-“ Kevin slammed his mouth shut and let out a nervous chuckle. He rubbed his chest and turned away. “I mean, I’d better go grab some – it’s burning like hell.” He turned away, belching noisily and groaning.

Negan hung around in the dark for a minute, pondering in amusement. Kevin was about to correct him- who did he like around here? He debated following after the twitchy bastard, try to wheedle details out of him. The poor kid needed tail, most likely, to steady his nerves and calm him the fuck down. Boredom and curiosity tumbled around in Negan, and he finally followed after Kevin through the long, endless hallways of Sanctuary.

Concrete and steel weren’t very welcoming, nor homey. Not that Negan was trying to go for that type of thing, but maybe it wouldn’t kill them to throw down some rugs here and there, get something up over the plain gray walls. Something tasteful, like boring landscape pictures or-

Negan heard a noise down one of the hallways, away from where Kevin had gone. Or maybe it was Kevin, did he take a wrong turn? He turned and melted his back against the wall. He held his breath and listened, letting the sound carry while he hid next to the hallway entrance. It was quiet shuffling of sorts, but quiet on purpose… someone sneaking around, not a walker. He hoped, anyways. Dammit, this was when he wished he had Daryl around. Maybe he’d get a leash, couldn’t let the redneck get too full of himself- stop, he thought. _Clear your mind._

Negan took in a slow, steady breath and cleared all other thoughts out of his mind except whatever lay beyond that hallway. Thank fuck he had Lucille. She felt good in his hand, he could focus on the feel of the woodgrain, the wrappings from the grip. More shuffling, and a light clatter. It was further away now, they were moving down the hallway.

Negan peeked around the corner, and saw a faint shadow. Christ, it was dark as shit down here. No natural lighting, just the rare flickering lightbulb in the stairwells and the occasional wall sconce with a candle shoved inside with long waxy tears dripping down the sides. He hugged the wall and crept down the hall quietly towards the shadow, keeping a good distance- he hoped- between them. A door quietly squeaked opened at the far end, letting in a fraction of lighting. The shadow moved through the doorway, though Negan couldn’t pick out much details except it looked the rough size and shape of a man- not very helpful.

The door closed with a quiet _thud._ Negan reached in his jacket and pulled out a pocket flashlight, scanning the hallway. Just a series of doors, most of it just storage. None of their good shit like ammunition, food, or medicine. Just random crap they’d found out scavenging, stuff for the kids, excess furniture they’d found lying around the place. Negan opened each door, finding nothing but dust and stale air, cobwebs with dried husks, and a whole lot of nothing interesting.

He checked a third door, a little bit closer to the hallway where he’d been. The room was fairly innocuous, full of broken or almost-broken chairs shoved in one corner, stacks of boxes filled with items found in the factory that no one knew the purpose of. And yet – something was off about the room. Most of the rooms had cobwebs in them- though the cleaners came by once in a blue moon to clear them out on occasion to prevent infestation, this room was clean.

“Like Sherlock fuckin’ Holmes.”

He pushed in further, swearing as his boot caught on the corner of a broken cabinet, and swept the flashlight around the room. In the farthest corner, boot prints scuffed the dusty floor around some innocuous boxes. Negan strode over, jumping only slightly when the door clicked shut behind him.

He peeked in the boxes. It just looked like boxes of spare parts still in the boxes, old calculators and typewriter ribbons. They rattled oddly when he picked them up, and he opened one of them.

_Jackpot._

Ammunition, packed tightly in each box. In another, underneath some broken gardening hoses and stakes were cans from the kitchen. This wasn’t the proper place to store this shit- he’d found the cache of whoever the fuck was stealing from him.

Negan stood there for a minute, letting the rage boil comfortably. He could lash out now, go hunting for the asshole (or more likely, assholes) who were stealing, but perhaps it was better to wait this one out. Take that rage, put it in a very, _very_ secure mental box, and store it away. After all, they might just get sneakier if the thieves were found out.

He replaced the boxes, and smudged the dust around the floor to remove any immediate clue that he had been there. Before leaving, he quietly opened the door and peeked down the hallway – clear.

_Sneaking around my own goddamn place._ He held back a bitter chuckle.

Back at his office, he sighed and laid down on the worn leather sofa. The second his head hit the cushion, he was out.

Several hours later, he jolted awake from the banging on his door.

“What? Keep it down for fuck’s sake!” he shouted, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t tell if the extra shut-eye had helped or hurt yet.

A muffled voice was indistinguishable from the other side. Negan stormed over and unlocked the door, yanking it open to reveal Kevin. The squirrelly man was gasping for air, leaning on the doorframe trying to catch his breath.

“Sir. Came…as soon as I…heard….”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, man. Is someone dead?”

“No! No…”

“Dying, then? Bleeding? Did a group of fuckin’ former Playboy Bunnies appear at the gates?”

“No…”

“Then come the fuck in and sit the fuck down before you give yourself a goddamn heart attack.”

“Thanks…elevator’s out…maintenance. Those stairs…”

Negan poured him a glass of water and shoved it in Kevin’s hands. “Yeah, they’re a bitch alright. I don’t have all fuckin’ day to listen to you wheezing in my office, so settle the fuck down and tell me what’s going on.”

He nearly used up all his patience waiting for Kevin to collect himself, but turned to look at the big map on his wall and counted slowly to thirty, then back down to zero. Kevin finally spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep, went on radio duty. Got a call from Alexandria, sir. Said they picked up some guy, nearly dead. Spoke about some group up in the mountains that killed his people, nearly killed him. Was tellin’ Rick he overheard them talk about some group of kids as well that lived up in the mountains, and he was worried they’d get killed too, or worse. Sir. Sounded like that group we met, maybe.”

Negan froze. “He give any indication where they might be?”

“Said they are at some old caves turned into a local attraction.”

“Well, we already fuckin’ knew that, Kev.”

Kevin nodded. “Uh huh. I asked ‘em to see if he knew whereabouts, but he wasn’t sure. He was from the area I guess, but it was a piddly place, mainly a farm or something but the couple who lived there would allow schoolkids there for field trips and let them camp on their grounds.”

“None of this is fuckin’ helpful.”

“I’m gettin’ there. So, this feller recalls that one of his sister’s kids went there once time, gave me the name of the elementary school. Thought maybe there’d be some records there maybe of the trip. Permission slips or something, or information in the admin shit there.”

Negan leaned over the desk and grabbed Kevin’s face. He flinched but maintained as steady as he could, looking in Negan’s eyes with fear.

“Kevin, you are a wonderful fuckin’ man, and I don’t say that enough. Remember that when I’m giving you shit.”

Kevin looked at him, bewildered. “Uh, sure, sir. You feeling okay?”

Negan slapped Kevin’s cheek and laughed. “Never fuckin’ better. Let’s find that fuckin’ school on the map and get a trip out there. Go get Snake and Dwight. Real discrete, don’t be blabbing we’re going to a school, just on a supply run.”

Kevin nodded eagerly. “Yes sir!” He went for the door, but Negan stopped him.

“And Kev? You have trouble sleeping, right?”  
“Sometimes. I’m a night owl, usually.”

“Excellent. Come back up once you deliver the message. I’ve got a special job for you. Also discreet.”

Kevin’s face lit up. “Really, sir?”

“Fuck yeah. It’s a little nightwatch job. Keeping a fuckin’ eye out on something particular.”

Kevin puffed his chest out and nodded. “You can count on me, sir.”

Negan nodded and dismissed him away. A moment later, he heard Kevin run headfirst into some poor sap, followed by clattering of items, and a stammered apology. He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d better pair Kevin with that sneaky fuck Daryl, as much as it pained him.

He turned back to the map, a slow grin spreading in his face.

_I fucking love when a plan comes together._


End file.
